


One Batch, Two Batch

by Jadedimage



Series: Malen’kiy Dya’vol, Bol’shoy Rot [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Dialogue, Fluff, M/M, Mattimir, Non-Canon Relationship, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn, VladimirLives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadedimage/pseuds/Jadedimage
Summary: Frank Castle is on the warpath and working his way, dead body by dead body, through that list of his. Matt finds himself incapable of just sitting by and letting it happen, much to Vladimir’s perpetual irritation, and Foggy and Karen work with Matt to try to keep their one witness alive.Thank you again toRandoFando911for being such an awesome Beta! <3
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Vladimir Ranskahov
Series: Malen’kiy Dya’vol, Bol’shoy Rot [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700131
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	1. Shot in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chapter title taken from the Within Temptation song of the same name, which I rather like as a song from Matt’s perspective regarding the relationship he has with Vladimir.

Three weeks had passed since the downfall of Wilson Fisk, and Matt had been in the office with Karen and Foggy all day during a sweltering heatwave. They had grown a large clientele who generous though they were with baked goods, fruits, and other foods, often had little in the way of money to pay them. That was alright with Matt, though; he was never in this for the money. He was doing it to help people. Now, he was walking home, his laptop in a backpack over one shoulder so he could work from home. In truth, his intent was to check up on local reports, see what Frank had been up to lately. The man had been a ghost, hard to find, harder still to trail, and the occasional dead bodies that turned up were a clear sign to Matt that the other man was steadily working his way through that ‘list’ of his.

He opens the door to his apartment, closing and locking it behind him before propping his cane nearby, pausing as he picked up Vladimir’s scent in the room. The Russian had, upon being well enough to do so, left his apartment and had been living in a safe house a discrete distance from his previous, and as far as Matt could tell, he had been busy rebuilding his criminal organization; something that left a bad taste in the back of his mouth.

Matt continues on into the living room where Vladimir was sat in the middle of the couch, his arms draped along either side of its back and his head rested back against it, seemingly asleep, though his eyes opened and turned to Matt as he got closer,

“What are you doing here?” Matt asked quietly, though without accusation, and Vladimir smirked,

“What, I can’t drop in, say hello?”

“Not usually.” Matt replied honestly, putting his backpack down before shedding his suit jacket, and then his shirt; even with the AC it was uncomfortably warm in his apartment. He felt like jumping into a swimming pool.

“Tch, you hurt me, malen’kiy dya’vol.” Vladimir replied, still smirking, then he continued to speak, “Any word on our mutual friend?”

“Not much. He’s been busy.” Replied Matt, taking a seat beside Vladimir on the couch with a light sigh, “I have no idea how long that list of his is but he seems to be making steady progress through it.” He added, and Vladimir grunted. Matt could feel him watching him as he let his head rest back against the couch, and by proxy, Vladimir’s arm, though the latter was strictly unintentional. He was exhausted by the persistent heat. He blinked when he felt fingers running through his hair in an almost affectionate manner, somewhat confused by it, really, but he didn’t complain.

“Mm, you need haircut.” Remarked Vladimir, absently, and Matt chuckled,

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been busy.”

“Always excuses.” Vladimir teased, making the brunet smile,

“Not excuses, reasons.” Protested Matt, “The office has been busy since everything with Fisk, but the nighttime activity in the city hasn’t slowed down.” He turns his eyes toward him in something of a side-eye, “Which is no thanks to you, might I add.” He finished, hearing the soft, short huff of breath through Vlad’s nose as he let out a mute laugh as he smiled,

“What do you expect me to do, mm? Not return to what I have always done, to being who I am?”

“It’s _not_ who you are, Volodya.” Matt countered, feeling him turn his head to look at him as the fingers in his hair stilled a moment, “Not completely anyway. It may be what you’ve always done, but who you are is _much_ more than that. You just don’t let yourself see it.” A long pause greeted his words, though the other man’s fingers resumed their slow strokes in his hair after a moment, and Vladimir sighed,

“Perhaps. Still. There is gap that must be filled, who better to fill it than one who knows how?”

“Someone else.” Matt almost whispered, “You keep doing this, and we’re going to land on the opposite sides of a battlefield at some point, Vladimir.” He pointed out, shifting to turn in his seat to face him, “And I’d really rather not have that happen. I can do what I can to track Frank, to keep you safe from him. But there’s not shit that I can do to keep you safe from yourself.” His words were soft-spoken, ever-careful of rousing the Russian’s impressively volatile temper, but of the emotions he sensed shifting through him, anger was something of an afterthought, and Vladimir sighed,

“I am not asking you to, malen’kiy dya’vol.” He murmured, getting to his feet, though he surprised Matt when he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of his head, letting his fingers fall from his hair as he straightened, “I ask only that you keep _yourself_ safe.” He added, quietly, before he made for the upstairs door, leaving Matt in a somewhat stunned silence.

* * *

That evening, Frank was outside of the Irish pub, waiting to seize his opportunity to complete his mission. The chaos in the underworld that followed Fisk’s arrest had forced the meeting to be delayed, much to his annoyance. But he had used the delay to his advantage to take out a few others on his list. He heard a dog barking as a car pulled in beside the garage of the building, watching one of his targets as they walked into it, voices speaking to each other over the noise, and he made his way around, carefully. The dog was clearly being used in fights, and the sight of it made his blood boil.

“You miserable mutt, where was all of that fight ten minutes ago!?” Questioned his handler as he chained him up. Frank waited as the man went inside, the dog whimpering softly, and he quietly moved into the garage, the dog growling at him,

“Shh, shh. Hey, it’s ok. It’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you, yeah?” He spoke quietly, bringing his hand forward to let the dog sniff at it, smiling gently as its tail began to wag a bit, “Thatta boy. Let’s get you outta here, yeah?” He gave him a gentle pet, careful of his wounds before he undid the chain hooking him to the shelf. He quietly walked the dog back to his car, loading him in the back and putting the windows down a ways, “Alright, you sit tight. Be back before you know it, then we’ll get ya home, clean you up, get you fed. How’s that sound?” He gives him a gentle pat, smiling again as he licked his hand and face, “Yeah, good boy.” He kisses his snout and quietly closes the door.

He noted a sentry outside of the pub, drawing his knife and sneaking up behind him to drive it into the base of his skull, dragging the body into the alley and letting it drop before he pulled his rifle off of his back, listening to the muted sound of voices from within to pinpoint his best position before he raised it and opened fire. Once he was sure everyone was dead — unaware of the fact Grotto had managed to escape out the back, he went in to survey the damage. He spotted a briefcase attached to a man’s wrist via handcuffs, and he smirked. Only one thing could be in a case like that. He squatted down, cutting off the man’s hand and picking up the case, exiting the building.

* * *

Matt, Foggy and Karen had gone to Josies that evening, the three enjoying a few games of pool. It wasn’t any cooler in the bar than outside of it, with the AC being on the fritz, but they were enjoying themselves just the same. As Karen had gone to get them another round, Matt paused as Foggy took a shot; there was a racing heartbeat in the room, at the bar. He wasn’t sure who the man was, but he was terrified. And armed. Never a good combination,

“Hey, Foggy? The guy at the bar looking this way, you know him?” Matt inquired, and Foggy turned to see who he was talking about,

“No, why? What’s his deal?” Foggy replied, and Matt took a drink of beer before replying,

“Adrenaline’s high. His heart rate’s out of control.”

“Well, he is sitting next to Karen.” Foggy pointed out with a smile,

“There’s something in his coat.” Matt countered, and Foggy looked toward the man again,

“Coat? Hot room. I don’t need fancy senses to know he’s probably packing.” Replied Foggy, and Matt started to make for the man. Foggy moved and put his hand on his arm to stop him, “What? Matt, don’t make it a thing. Half of the people in here are carrying guns.”

“Yeah, but none of them have their finger tapping the trigger.” Countered Matt, and he continued on to the bar, passing Karen with their drinks along the way. He stands next to the man, tilting his head fractionally, “You, uh, new here friend?” Inquired Matt, aiming to keep his tone neutral, calm.

“No, actually.” The man replied,

“Hey, it’s alright. Look, I’m just, I’m just letting you know this is a good place, with good people. A lot of places a guy like you could drink. Just saying.”

“It’s not what you think. I got business here. With Nelson and Murdock. You must be the blind one.”

The man — Grotto, as it turned out — joined them at their table at Matt’s invitation and went into detail about the hit on the pub, and his desire to go into Wit-Pro. Grotto assumed that the pub was hit by an ‘army,’ a rival syndicate. Matt, however, knew better. This was Frank. No getting around it. He knew Frank would be coming after Grotto if he learned he survived; it was a bad situation all around. Foggy and Matt promised to look into the situation, and had no more than done so when Grotto hit the floor, bleeding from the deep wound he’d sustained.

After getting an ambulance and sending the injured man to the hospital, Foggy and Matt opted to go to the crime scene. Matt knew, somewhere anyway, that he should tell Foggy about Frank. But that… would have provoked far too many questions than he wanted to deal with. So for now, he just played along. They spent some time talking with Brett, and Foggy mentioned he had someone he might be able to get information from, thus, the two went their separate ways. Matt decided to return to his apartment. For the second time that day, however, he found his apartment occupied in his absence. It wasn’t Vladimir, this time; it was Frank. Matt’s grip tightened on his walking stick a moment before he opened his door and went into the apartment, shutting the door and leaning the stick against the wall before making his way to the living room, speaking as he moved through the entry hall,

“You’ve been busy tonight, Frank. Hell of a mess you made in that pub.”

“Yeah, well, they had it comin. So’s the bastard that got away.” Frank replied, and Matt felt him look over at him from where he stood at the window, “That is a goddamn obnoxious billboard.” He added, turning to fully face him,

“I don’t know that anybody had _that_ coming. It was a massacre.”

“Maybe. But it was effective.”

“Yeah.” Matt replied, taking off his sunglasses and putting them in his breast pocket before he continued, “What are you doing here, Frank?” He inquired, and Frank moved toward him, stopping about a foot away,

“Consider this fair warning, Red. I know Grotto went to you and your little buddy. I also know he landed in the hospital. I suggest you stay outta my way.” Replied Frank, and Matt’s jaw tightened a moment,

“Jesus, Frank. It’s a hospital. Do you have any idea how many innocent—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah; innocent people blah, blah. I ain’t gonna hurt anybody innocent.”

“No? And what the hell happens when they happen to wind up between you and Grotto?”

“You think this is the first time I’ve had to take down a hostile with civilians everywhere? It damn sure ain’t. I know what I’m doing; I just hope you do — you put yourself between me and him? Armor or no armor, I swear to god I _will_ shoot you.”

“Why tell me all of this then? Why not just do it?” Matt questioned, taking a step forward, “Why bother with a head’s up?” He pressed, and Frank sturgeonfaced slightly, his head tilting fractionally to one side,

“You and me, we go about shit different. But generally speaking? We’re on the same side. Have the same general goal. Figured a courtesy call wouldn’t be out of place.” Frank replied, moving for the door then, though he turned briefly, his hand on the doorknob, “It’s the only one you’re ever gonna get.” With that, Frank left the apartment and Matt let out a heavy sigh.

In truth, on Frank’s bad side wasn’t entirely a place he wanted to be sooner than necessary; but he knew it wasn’t something he could stop. It was like the force of gravity. After a momentary waffle, he moved to his closet beneath the stairs; it was time to suit up.

* * *

Karen was sitting beside Grotto’s hospital bed, waiting for him to come to. She had cooked up a convincing enough story for the staff to protect his identity, and hoped that he would play along. When his eyes opened he immediately started to try to get out of the bed, and she moved over to him to try and calm him down,

“Shh, shh, you’ve got multiple lacerations, Steve. Alright? The doctor said —“

“No, no doctor!” Grotto protested,

“The cut is deep, alright? Into the muscle, but there’s no vessel damage. Nothing that a few weeks of physical therapy can’t cure. You need to _stay here_.” Explained Karen, her hands on his shoulders to try to help him calm down.

“That ain’t happening” He replied,

“No, I’m here to help you.”

“By hog-tying me to a hospital with a target on my ass? You want me to wait for a bullet to come through the window or pull the trigger myself?” He questioned rapidly, clearly panicked,

“You need to listen to me, Steve —“

“You listen to me you daft woman!”

“You can trust me!”

“Who in Christ’s name is Steve?” He questioned in momentary confusion.

“You are. Your name is _Steve_ _Schaffer_ , and I am your wife, Isabelle. You got into a bar fight defending my honor. And other than the beer that was wasted when that bottle sliced through your flesh, I have got no regrets because I have loved you since I was 16, hot Irish temper and all.” Karen replied, watching as Grotto processed her words through his panic and confusion, and she smiled, “Nurse actually cried when I told her that part, by the way.” She added,

“It’s a nice story, doll. You gotta run home now. You ain’t got the balls for what’s coming.” Grotto replied, and Karen stared at him a moment before she spoke,

“Slide into bed, sweetheart, and settle in. Because I am the best chance you’ve got in the world right now.” She replied, watching him with satisfaction as he finally complied.

It hadn’t been more than an hour before the sound of panicked shouts and screams reached Karen’s ears, an Grotto sat up in bed,

“Oh, god.”

“What was that?” Asked Karen,

“No, no, no, no… shit. Someone’s come to finish the job.”

“Shh, don’t move.” Karen replied, moving to the door to take a look,

“No, to hell with that.” Said Grotto, going about disconnecting himself from the monitors and IV and getting out of bed.

Karen peeked out into the hall, watching nurses running down the corridor, and saw a man round the corner as he pulled a sawed off from beneath his jacket. “Shit.” She gasped softly, moving to Grotto and helping him out of bed, “Come on, come on!” She yanked him to his feet, the two of them running out of the room and down the hall. Gunshots followed them, shattering glass along the way, and Karen screams as a blast barely misses them as they went into the stairwell, screaming again as one hit the wall behind them as they rounded a flight. They ran outside to the car Ben left her, Karen fumbling for the keys,

“You don’t have the key? Is this even your car?” Grotto asked,

“It belonged to a friend.”

“Yeah? Where’s he?” He inquired as she finally got her door open,

“He’s dead.” She replied, leaning over and unlocking his door, “Get in!”

Grotto gets into the car and she floors it, screaming as a gunshot takes out the passenger mirror and another the rear glass, the two finally making their escape afterward.

* * *

Frank had just been lining up his shot to take out Grotto when he was attacked from behind, Matt having zeroed in on his location, Matt trying to take his gun as Frank actively tried to put a round directly into him. Matt threw him to the ground and finally disarmed him, Frank landing with a grunt before getting to his feet, the two trading a series of punches and kicks. Frank finally gets him down and makes his way up the near stairs and across the roof, only to have Matt try and attack from behind in a flying punch, which he avoided.

He had to hand it to Matt, really; the kid didn’t give up, and he was a hell of a brawler. The two continued to exchange blows, each trying to put the other down for more than a few seconds and neither really succeeding. Finally Matt took Frank to the ground, and Frank pulls the pistol in his ankle holster, aiming it at him. Matt freezes as Frank grins, blood running down his face from his nose, and he aims his shot carefully — ensuring he hit what he was certain was a more strongly-armored section of his helmet, on his forehead right between his eyes,

“Bang.” Frank remarked simply before he pulled the trigger, watching him fall over the ledge. He lays back on the roof a moment, panting softly to catch his breath as he returned his pistol to its holster. Once he’d recovered, he got to his feet and moved to the ledge Matt had disappeared over, jumping down and striding to him, feeling for a pulse beneath the neck of his armor, smirking slightly when he felt the rapid thrumming beneath his fingers. “If I was you I’d take that as a last warning, Red.” He remarked, well-aware the other man was unable to hear him, and he makes his way off of the roof. He’d live. The armor caught the bullet just as he figured it would. But he’d bet his left nut that he was gonna have one _hell_ of a headache once he came to.

* * *

The next morning, Vladimir was on his way to Matt’s apartment to check up on him. He wasn’t oblivious to the chaos of the night before, and in truth, he was concerned. He was well aware Frank had been responsible for the attack on the hospital and equally aware that Matt wasn’t the type to just sit by and let that stand. He sighs as he makes his way up to the roof to take the upstairs door to Matt’s apartment, as he always did; it was easier this way, perhaps not physically, but it spared them both the risk of his being seen coming and going from his apartment. He opens the door once he reaches it, quietly closing it behind him and looking around a moment. It was quiet, and there was a light staleness to the air that immediately made him certain that Matt hadn’t been home since the night before. Still, better to double-check.

Vladimir descends the stairs, moving first to the closet and opening the trunk, frowning; no armor. He closes it and returns the trunk to the closet, shutting it before peering into Matt’s bedroom to see if he’d just passed out in bed with the armor still on; it was unlikely, but not out of the realm of possibilities. His bed, however, was still made and clearly hadn’t been used the night before. He let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as that slight concern began to boil into genuine worry, progressing almost immediately into an entirely different emotion: Fear. Drawing a slow, deep breath through his nose, he opened his eyes and pulled his phone from his pocket, setting off upstairs and out of the building again as he called one of his men to get the details on the location of the rooftop gunfire the night before.

If Matt was lying bleeding out somewhere, he was going to _kill_ him.

* * *

Foggy was at the hospital, on the phone with Karen who’d just informed him she was safe and had Grotto with her at the police station. He told her to stay there, and not to let Grotto talk to anyone until he and Matt got there. Foggy pushed through the crowd clustered at the police barricade, hearing a report over the police radio that the perp wasn’t in the building, and there was a report of shots fired earlier on a rooftop on 10th. He immediately turned and made his way back through the crowd, running to a building on 10th and pushing buzzer buttons at random until one finally answered,

“Yeah?” A man questioned,

“I lost my keys!” He replied, and the door buzzer sounded to let him in. He rushed up the stairs onto the roof, visually searching it and any he could see before running back downstairs and going to another building. God he was getting his exercise for the month, he was sure of it. Roof by roof, building by building, he combed the area, trying to find Matt, panic setting in more and more the longer he went without finding him. _‘_ _Jesus, Matt. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead_. _’_

At the last roof he went to, he saw a pair of boots beside a skylight, “Oh shit!” He ran over, stopping in his tracks when he saw Vladimir kneeling beside Matt, the Russian drawing his gun on reflex, and Foggy threw his hands up, “Whoa whoa!”

“Froggy.” Vladimir remarked, sighing softly as he returned his gun to his waistband,

“God is he okay?!” Foggy questioned, kneeling beside him,

“Unconscious. But alive.” Replied the Russian, gesturing for him to help him turn him over, “I just got here. I haven’t had time to do more than check for pulse.” They both froze a moment as they got him over, his head on Vladimir’s leg, and they saw the bullet and the spider-web cracks around it in his helmet. Foggy was momentarily surprised at the look of worry that passed through Vladimir’s eyes, but his concern for Matt quickly took over, and he carefully took off Matt’s helmet,

“Matt, c’mon, wake up. Can you breathe?” Foggy questioned, and Matt began to stir a little. He looked completely out of it — on another planet, really, and his entire body seemed to almost vibrate with the shudders running through him,

“I think he is in shock.” Remarked Vladimir, his gaze finally turning from Matt to regard Foggy, “We need to get him home.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s um.. let’s get him up, carry him between us.” Foggy suggested and Vladimir nodded, the two working in tandem to get Matt to his feet and simultaneously support his weight so he didn’t fall, Vladimir taking his left arm around his shoulders and Foggy his right.

It took them longer than either of them would have cared for to get Matt home, owing to their extreme need for stealth — not an easy thing in broad daylight, but once they finally reached the apartment, they got the again-unconscious brunet out of his armor and onto his couch. Vladimir went to the bathroom to get a wet cloth to clean him up, and Foggy went into the kitchen, more or less puttering around to kill time until Matt came to. When he heard him speak, a mixture of relief and anger rushed through him,

“Hey, Foggy… can I get some aspirin?”

“You sure you don’t want an x-ray? Maybe a psych eval?” Replied Foggy,

“An aspirin’s fine buddy.”

“You got _shot in the head_. You’re lucky you’re not in the morgue.” Foggy remarked, getting Matt a water and aspirin.

“For once, I agree with Froggy.” Vladimir commented as he made his way back into the living room, sitting on the coffee table and starting to clean the blood off of Matt’s face, ignoring his half-hearted attempts to bat his hand away,

“It was just a stupid mistake. The gun on his ankle, I should’ve heard it, I should’ve felt it.”

“But you _didn’t_. And it almost got you killed.” Remarked Vladimir, sounding like he was torn between concern for Matt and the desire to punch him in the face; a sentiment Foggy could deeply relate to at the moment.

“No shit it did.” Replied Foggy, bringing the aspirin and water over, “What were you thinking, Matt? This guy’s a lunatic! I went to the hospital, I saw what he did.”

“Is Karen okay?”

“She got Grotto to the NYPD.”

“Who is Grotto?” Asked Vladimir

“His next target.” Matt replied, taking the aspirin and a long drink of water before he sighed softly, shifting to sit up,

“We’re gonna meet there, make a deal with the DA.” Foggy continued, watching Matt as he started to stand,

“I’m gonna put on some pants.”

“No, no.” Protested Foggy, and Vladimir let out a put-upon sigh,

“Already with this, malen’kiy dya’vol?” He questioned, and Matt ignored the protest,

“It’s okay. I know we need to get going.”

“No, _we_ don’t need to do anything.” Replied Foggy,

“Foggy, I don’t want to do this right now.” Remarked Matt with a sigh,

“Karen’s safe. You’re safe! And our client will be safe within the hour.”

“The shooter is still walking the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.” Matt pointed out,

“He’s the cops’ problem now.” Foggy retorted, and Matt shook his head,

“He’s gonna plow right through the cops. You saw what he did to the Irish. You haven’t seen what he did to the Mexican cartel. He hung them on meat hooks and he left them there to die.”

“Inventive.” Commented Vladimir, sounding half-amused, and Foggy cut him a look,

“Not helpful.” Foggy pointed out before looking to Matt, “You want another round.”

“Blood is being shed, Foggy!”

“And you’ve donated more than your fair share to the cause!” Foggy shouted, anger and frustration warring in his head, making him more than a little short-tempered, and Vladimir shrugged a shoulder as he nodded,

“Froggy is not wrong, malen’kiy dya’vol. You have scars to prove it.”

“ _Thank you!_ ” Foggy gestured to him emphatically,

“I need to stop him.”

“You need to _rest_. Okay? And when you wake up, you need to consider putting that thing—“ He gestures to the suit, “back in whatever whacko box it came from. Better yet…” he began, moving to take it, and Matt grabbed it,

“Let go.”

“You first.” Replied Foggy, letting the armor go as Matt yanked it back, “I don’t wanna do this again.”

“Then don’t.”

“Do you know what would’ve happened if someone caught the three of us stumbling home? You wearing that thing?”

“I appreciate it, the both of you taking care of me—“

“You should.” Foggy remarked,

“But when the cops try to take this guy down it’s gonna be one hell of a fight, lives are gonna be lost. This guy’s not gonna go down easy. I need to help.” Matt replied, and Foggy let out a heavy sigh,

“You look like shit. Stay here. Get rest. We don’t need people asking questions we don’t have answers to. I’ve covered for you enough as it is. And for now, let the NYPD and the DA do their jobs, and trust me, to do mine! Okay?” He questioned, and Matt gave as close to a nod as he seemed inclined to after a long moment. Foggy turned to Vladimir then, “Do us all a favor, make sure he stays put. Please.”

“I will. Whether he likes it or not.” Replied Vladimir, and Foggy gave a nod, leaving the apartment then to head for the precinct.

Foggy wasn’t sure why the hell Matt and Vladimir were friends; they were really on completely opposite ends of the moral spectrum. Foggy was more than aware of Vladimir’s criminal activity, of his involvement in the Russian mob, and he knew Matt was, too; but in this moment, he found himself not caring quite so much as he might once have. He and Vladimir shared a common ground — they both cared about Matt, and that earned him Foggy’s trust, at least as far as Matt’s safety and well-being were concerned. He knew he would be true to his word, and for now, that was all that mattered.

* * *

Matt sighed as Foggy left, moving to put his suit away and going to the bedroom to put on a pair of pants and a T-shirt before he plopped back on the couch. He had felt Vladimir watching him as he moved, but the Russian was uncharacteristically silent. He could sense the anger radiating off of him, but there was something else beneath it; worry, maybe? He wasn’t sure. After a long continuation of that silence, Matt sighed softly,

“I’m fine.”

“You got shot in the head, tupitsa. That is _not_ fine.” Vladimir countered, and Matt snorted a little,

“Technically, I got shot _on_ the head. The armor stopped the bullet.” He pointed out, attempting a bit of levity, only to grunt in a mixture of surprise and pain as he was slapped across the face, “Ow! What the hell was that for?!” He protested, doing his best to ignore the redoubled throbbing in his head,

“It seemed preferable to punching you. Is _not_ time for stupid jokes, mudak! You could have been _killed._ You could have been found by police. This is not a laughing matter.” Vlad replied, his irritation evident in the slight growl that had seeped into his tone, and Matt sighed softly, holding up his hands in resignation,

“Fine, alright; Jesus.” He ran a hand through his own hair, “Can I at least argue that neither of those things happened?”

“This time. What about next time, hm? What about when Frank decides not to let you off with warning? You really think that he didn’t know _exactly_ what he was doing? That this wasn’t a warning for you to back off? He _could_ have killed you, Motya! He _chose_ not to.” Replied Vladimir, getting to his feet as he spoke, pacing like a caged lion, and Matt stood, putting his hands on his shoulders, hoping to settle the riled Russian a little,

“I know. I know all of that, okay…?” Matt replied, keeping his voice soft, “I do. He came by yesterday afternoon, warned me to stay out of his way. But… I couldn’t, you know? I couldn’t just sit back and let him kill Grotto and potentially hurt innocent people — Karen included — in the process. Not if there was something I could do.” He concluded, feeling Vladimir watching him as he spoke, and the blond let out a heavy sigh,

“So, what, hm? Is better he hurt or kills you instead? Who will be there to stop him and men like him if you get killed? Do you not think of that? And what of those you leave behind when you do?” Vladimir countered, some of the anger in his voice fading as he spoke, replaced by worry and insistence,

“I do think about that… All of it. But not doing things because I _might_ get hurt or _might_ get killed wouldn’t be any better, Volodya. I can’t just... hide, just stick my head in the sand and ignore everything going on in this city.”

“Maybe not. But you could be smarter about doing it. Less careless.” Replied Vladimir, “Or those mights you speak of will no longer be mights, they will become wills.” He added, and Matt sighed quietly, nodding in acquiescence,

“I know. Like I said, I was stupid.”

“Very.” Replied Vladimir, making Matt smile,

“I’m entitled, now and then.” He countered, making Vladimir snort softly before he nodded, reaching up to brush Matt’s wayward hair out of his face,

“Maybe. But next time, aim for less stupidity, malen’kiy dya’vol.” He replied, moving to sit in a chair with a sigh, “Too many people in this city need you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malen’kiy dya’vol - Little devil  
> Tupitsa - Dumbass  
> Mudak - Asshole  
> Motya - Diminutive of Matvey, the Russian form of Matthew.


	2. Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt deals with the after-effects of his concussion with Vladimir’s help, Karen pays him a visit, and Grotto is, unbeknownst to Karen and Foggy, used as bait for Frank, and Matt and Frank square off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chapter title taken from the Within Temptation song of the same name; also lots of canon convo in this chapter, with tweaks for canon divergence accuracy.

Vladimir was still at Matt’s apartment later that morning, very intent on keeping his word to Foggy; he didn’t fully trust Matt not to go and… well, be him, really. He watched the other man as he moved into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, blinking when he suddenly flinched and groaned, his brows furrowing as he watched him move for the table where his aspirin was. He looked extremely off-kilter, which was anything but unconcerning. He blinks, getting to his feet, when Matt knocked over the glass of water he’d set on the table and stared down at it in confusion, and when he turned, Vladimir saw his nose was bleeding. He moved toward Matt as he backed into a wall and sank to the floor, looking nothing short of panic stricken, Vladimir squatting before him and putting a hand on his shoulder, finally seeming to get his attention in doing so,

“I can’t hear anything!” Matt shouted, his voice as panicked as his expression, and Vladimir moved his hand from his shoulder to cup his jaw, taking his other and putting it over his own heart, letting him feel the steady rhythm and the rise and fall of his own breathing in hopes it would help ground him and silently translate the need for him to calm. Matt blinked several times before he nodded a little — message received, apparently — and began to match his own breathing with Vladimir’s. Once he was relatively calm, Vladimir sat beside him, keeping the sides of their bodies together in a steady, reassuring presence, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

After several minutes of sitting in silence, Matt let out a quiet sigh, leaning into Vladimir a bit as his hand found Vlad’s, resting it over it and closing his eyes, the Russian smiling softly and lacing their fingers, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. He wasn’t going anywhere; he wasn’t going to leave him in the darkened silence he had undoubtedly been plunged into in absence of his ability to hear.

“Thank you.” Matt whispered, and Vladimir gave a nod, knowing he would feel the air displacement at the very least, and he gave his hand another squeeze in reply, shifting his arm afterwards to put it around his shoulders. The two sat quietly then, Vladimir letting his own eyes close, drifting into a light doze before long as the familiarity of sitting side by side against a wall with a warm, constant presence beside him lulled him as it always had when it had been he and Anatoly sharing a wall to sleep.

His eyes blinked open some time later as he began to register a knock on the door, a very insistent knocking, at that; the light in the room told him morning had passed into afternoon. He felt Matt stir before a hand came up to snap his fingers and the brunet sighed, Vladimir looking to him,

“You can hear again?”

“Yeah.” He replied quietly, wiping his nose as he got to his feet, and Vladimir rose as well, watching Matt move to the door.

* * *

Karen had spent the morning with Foggy and Grotto at the precinct, working out a deal with the DA. Afterward, she decided to go to Matt’s. She was worried about him, and Foggy’s evasiveness regarding him hadn’t helped matters. She knocked on the door, repeatedly, her frown deepening with every moment that passed that Matt didn’t open the door. Finally, she heard Matt in the hall,

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He’d stated, and the door opened. Karen barely stopped herself from gasping, disguising it as a breath; he looked like hell and had visible bruises on his face.

“Hey.” Said Karen, the only word that managed to push through the crowd of bustling thoughts and concerns in her head,

“Hey.” Matt replied, “Sorry, you startled me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Uh, come in.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.” Replied Matt, and she entered the apartment, closing the door, “I uh, I heard what happened.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. No, uh, actually I’m barely holding on. I really don’t enjoy being used for target practice.” She confessed in a rush, and Matt put his hand on her arm,

“Come here.” He replied and she went into the offered hug gratefully, holding him tightly and closing her eyes, trying to slow her breathing as she sniffled against the unbidden tears that tried to escape, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” Karen replied with a chuckle, and they separated, Karen following Matt into the living room, “How ‘bout you?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” He replied, and Karen blinked when she saw Vladimir sitting in the living room, giving him a tentative smile before she looked to the broken glass on the floor, toeing it slightly,

“Hair of the dog that bit you?” She questioned, and Matt hesitated before he replied,

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“What does it look like? Sorry. No, I don’t mean to pry. I just worry about you a little sometimes.”

“I appreciate it. There’s no need to worry.”

“Yeah, you know that doesn’t help right? You denying that there’s anything wrong? How many times can I hear that you fell down the stairs, or you walked into the door?” She questioned, ignoring Vladimir’s soft snort,

“Yeah, well, you know I’m blind?”

“And you know that I’m not an idiot!” She retorted, and Matt scoffed, not replying. She was extremely conscious of Vladimir watching the two of them similar to one watching a particularly interesting tennis match, and she cleared her throat, “Okay, um. Let’s say this. When, or if, you ever feel like you can tell me what’s really going on with you… I promise that I’m here. Is that a deal?”

“That is a deal.” Matt replied around a sigh, “Now, what can you tell me about the meeting with the DA?”

Karen laid out what happened as she and Matt took a seat; she had a distinct suspicion he knew more than he was letting on as he asked questions about what the police knew about the shooter. It was like he was digging for something other than the answers to his questions. It unsettled her. She began to realize she had, somewhere along the way, lost her trust in him. It was more than just the constant, transparent excuses from both Matt and Foggy to explain away his various injuries. But what it was that was niggling at her, she couldn’t put her finger on.

She left before too long, heading back to the office to help Foggy prep the case, trying not to think too much, about Wesley, about The Punisher, about her fraying trust in Matt. It hurt too much, and right now, she needed to focus, needed to help Foggy with Grotto’s case, needed to get on building that file on The Punisher that Matt suggested creating. She needed to focus on things she could do something about, not on the things she couldn’t.

* * *

Matt closed the door when Karen left, sighing deeply and moving back into the living room. He was more unsettled than he was inclined to let on; Karen’s remarks that he — not that she knew that — was directly responsible for Frank’s own brand of vigilante justice, it struck a nerve. He felt Vladimir watching him from where he sat as Matt moved to get a beer, opening it and taking a pull from the bottle before he wandered back to the couch and sat with a sigh, taking his glasses back off and setting them aside.

“Don’t.” Matt said, softly, as he heard Vladimir take a breath as he opened his mouth to speak, “Just… don’t. Not right now, please.” He didn’t know if Vladimir was going to crack a joke, or ask if he was okay, or make some off-the-cuff observation that would hit another nerve; he never knew, really. He just knew that at the moment, none of them were things he felt like dealing with. He felt him nod after a pause, before he got up and moved to sit beside him, Matt sighing gently as Vladimir stroked a hand through his hair.

Truthfully, Vladimir’s presence, even his touch, had become soothing to him in a way that he never knew it could have been; he grounded him in some strange way, he helped pull him out of himself when he got in too deep. His silent, understanding support when he had lost his hearing was something he was deeply grateful for in a way he could never put into words, especially because of how unexpected it was. The Russian constantly surprised him in so many ways, particularly with how gentle he could be, how sympathetic and understanding; they were things he never would have even thought him _capable_ of six weeks ago.

“How’s your head?” Vladimir inquired quietly, bringing him out of his reverie, and Matt smiled a little,

“Not great. But better than it was a little while ago.” Matt sighed a little, “I need to get my helmet fixed.”

“Not today.” Replied Vladimir almost sternly, the tone a stark contrast to the gentle motions of his fingers,

“Vladimir…”

“No. That nose bleed, with head trauma? Not a good thing, Motya; and I don’t think I need to point out suddenly losing your ability to hear doesn’t add any points in your favor. You have a concussion; a bad one. You need to stay here and rest, not go wandering off.” Vladimir countered, and Matt sighed again, closing his eyes and resting his head against the couch. He knew he was right. But as long as his helmet was damaged, he was vulnerable, and being more vulnerable than he was? That wasn’t something he was good with.

“I know… I know I need to.” He admitted, turning his head toward him, “But as long as that helmet’s damaged, it’s useless. I may as well go back to the black mask.” He added, and Vladimir grunted, his hand stopping as he seemed to sense that Matt wasn’t going to let it go, and Matt really didn’t need enhanced senses to know he wasn’t pleased about it. He sat up properly, turning to face the Russian and putting a hand on his shoulder, “I know you’re worried, Volodya.” He continued before the other man could speak, “More than you probably even admit to yourself. But I can’t just… leave it broken. It needs repaired if I’m going to have whatever safety it can provide me with. Concussion or no, I can’t just. Stop being who I am, doing what I do. I don’t have that option.”

A long silence greeted his words, and he could feel Vladimir studying him before he let out a quiet sigh, his hand moving from his hair to the back of his neck, and he leaned forward, kissing his forehead, making Matt blink in a slightly surprised manner, but he was beginning to get used to the random, gentle affections Vladimir bestowed upon him; more than that, he found himself rather enjoying them, really.

“Then we go together, malen’kiy dya’vol. If you are determined to go running around city, you won’t be doing it alone. If you lose hearing again, or lose consciousness, you need someone with you. Deal?” Replied Vladimir, and Matt smiled softly, nodding in agreement, appreciating that he opted for reason rather than letting the rather tangible annoyance he was feeling overtake the conversation,

“Deal.” Matt agreed, “Let’s go.” He added, getting to his feet, moving afterward to grab his armor and his hoodie, Vladimir following after him.

* * *

Vladimir walked with Matt to Melvin’s, keeping a wary eye on him in case he lost balance, though he only needed steadied once along the way, Vlad insisting he rest a moment and after a brief back-and-fourth, Matt had complied; at least until the world stopped spinning. When they reached Melvin’s, the man seemed a bit leery of Vladimir, but Matt assured him it was alright and handed his armor over as Vladimir stood beside Matt when he sat down, watching Melvin examine the helmet.

“How far away was this guy when he hit you?” Melvin questioned,

“Four or five feet, why?” Replied Matt

“He could’ve killed you.” Melvin remarked, and Vladimir side-eyed Matt in what was a distinctly ‘I-told-you-so’ manner, Matt frowning faintly and waving his hand a bit, “One inch in either direction your face would be spaghetti. I mean, look at that shot placement.”

“I got lucky.” Matt commented, and Vladimir snorted quietly,

“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it was a warning shot.” Ventured Melvin, “He could’ve finished you off, but didn’t.” Melvin grinned a little then, “Talk about getting your bell rung.”

“Can you fix it or not?” Inquired Matt, and Melvin was silent a time, looking over at the two of them a moment before back to the helmet and sighing,

“I promised Betsy I wouldn’t do anything illegal anymore.”

“Betsy?” Vladimir mouthed quietly to Matt, who gave his head a slight shake,

“I’m not a criminal, Melvin.” Matt replied and Melvin scoffed a little,

“You don’t have a badge, either.” Melvin pointed out, and Vlad smirked softly

“He’s not wrong.” Replied Vladimir, and Matt cut him a bit of a look before getting to his feet

“Look, the man who did this has already killed dozens in Hell’s Kitchen. How much longer before innocent people start getting caught in his crossfire?”

“Yeah?” Questioned Melvin as he picked up a saw blade, Vladimir stiffening slightly and taking a step forward, but Matt put his hand on his arm to halt him, “You sure he didn’t follow you here?”

“I would never allow that to happen.”

“Ok it’s just you’d never _allow_ yourself be shot in the head before.”

“I gave you my _word_ , Melvin. When I promised to protect you and Betsy, remember?” Matt countered gently, and Vladimir watched as Melvin processed,

“I remember.” He replied before he tossed the saw blade back on the bench, Vlad tangibly relaxing a bit as he took a step back. “It’s just… I can’t just fix this.”

“Why not?”

“You gotta understand it’s not just the cracked part that’s broken. The crack makes the whole thing fragile, like a bird egg. I gotta make you a new one.”

“Ok, well, how long is that gonna take?”

“Does it really matter, malen’kiy dya’vol? It is necessary; time frame is irrelevant.”

“No, it’s not.” Matt replied impatiently, looking back to Melvin, “How long?”

“I dunno, a couple days maybe, if I don’t sleep?”

“What can you do for me tonight?” Asked Matt, and Vladimir’s head turned sharply to regard him, Matt holding up a hand in a quelling gesture as Vladimir’s jaw set, irritation blazing in his blue eyes, but for the moment, he held his tongue,

“I don’t know, reinforce the cracks. Replace some of the padding.”

“Yeah, good; do it.” Matt replied, moving closer to Melvin and sitting against a bench,

“Okay, but it won’t keep you safe. I thought that’s what you wanted? We keep each other safe, don’t we? Isn’t that our deal?”

“Yeah, just do your best Melvin, okay?” Replied Matt, and Melvin sighed as he took up his blowtorch,

“You sure you’re ready to go out again? He asked, and Matt chuckled a little.

“Do I look ready?” He asked, and Melvin shook his head a little before getting to work. Vladimir moved to Matt, regarding his profile,

“Can I have word in private?” Vlad requested, managing to keep his tone even in spite of the irritation that had rapidly stoked into anger in his chest, and Matt turned his head toward him, seeming to study him a moment before he replied,

“No. Not now.” Replied Matt, which did little to improve the Russian’s mood, and he lets out a quiet growl, turning walking away, exiting the building.

Once outside, he let out a deep sigh of frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose before he lit a cigarette and took a slow, deep drag, exhaling it just as slowly as he tried to quell the intense desire to knock the shit out of the stubborn brunet. Before he had finished his cigarette, his phone rang; he answered and had a brief discussion with one of his lieutenants before finishing his smoke, flicking the butt away as he returned his phone to his pocket. He startled fractionally as Matt spoke behind him,

“I know you’re frustrated—“ Matt began, but Vladimir cut him off,

“Nyet. I am beyond that.” He replied, turning to face him, “You are _not_ ready to go back out. But if you insist on doing it? There’s little I can do to stop you. Just don’t expect my approval, tupitsa; you won’t be getting it.” He added, regarding him before he moved off without another word; he had business to attend to, and if Matt had decided he wanted to go out and do his thing, he certainly didn’t need an escort home.

* * *

Matt left Melvin’s once he’d completed the repair on his helmet, returning it to his backpack with the rest of his gear. He’d gone to the pub to inspect the scene a bit better, and found a trail of blood – dog blood, unless he missed his guess; it carried the same scent to it as the chain in the garage had. He followed the trail until he reached a point where the sidewalk was being rinsed, using his ears to try to pinpoint where it might lead until he began to hear police radio chatter from multiple channels. Following the sound, Matt inevitably found his way to Frank’s apartment, a gray pit bull rushing at him until his leash stopped him, barking fiercely at him,

“Good boy.” Matt said softly, slowly moving closer; he could smell fresh blood on the dog, but also bandages — Frank had tended the dog’s wounds. “That’s it, good boy.” He murmured, taking a handful of dog food from a near bag and feeding it to the dog, giving him a good pet afterward before he moved further into the apartment. Guns, radios, smoke grenades, ammo. Frank was clearly well-stocked. He tilted his head a little as he heard Reyes’ voice, listening to the transmissions, frowning slightly as Grotto was mentioned. He had a bad feeling about the entire thing, and it only grew worse as the chatter continued. He worked out, along the same time Karen and Foggy had, that it wasn’t a trap for Brass at all. It was a trap for Frank. He immediately suited up, putting his clothes in his backpack and taking off, leaving the backpack in an alley along the way as he raced across the city for the warehouse. Goddammit Frank!

He got to the warehouses and immediately sensed Frank up on a water tower, and he throws up a smoke bomb, hearing Frank’s “Shit!” A heartbeat before Matt dropkicked him, jumping down onto the roof after him as he fell, baton in hand, the two of them fighting intensely as they simultaneously dodged gunfire. Several minutes into their fight, he heard the sound of Frank’s shout as a bullet pierced his arm, but it didn’t seem to slow him down any. Especially not as he threw Matt through a skylight, both of them winding up hitting the floor beneath — hard. They lay side by side, both panting for breath and groaning in pain, and simultaneously worked their way to their feet,

“This has gotta stop, Frank.” Matt remarked as they circled each other, Matt about to continue speaking before his ears began to ring and the world began to spin; he could feel Frank watching him as he tried to reorient himself, but a moment later, the world went dark as he lost consciousness.

* * *

Frank watched as Matt seemed to lose his balance, looking for a moment like he was trying to remember what planet he was on, and he began to move toward him as his legs clearly turned to jelly, barely catching him as he passed out. Dumbass going into a fight with a concussion? He should leave him there. He sincerely considered doing it for a moment before he sighed heavily, shifting him into a fireman’s carry and hauling ass out of the building. Why the hell did he keep giving this guy second, third, fourth and fifth chances? He honestly didn’t know. He was a persistent pain in his ass, always getting in his way, always trying to stop him from completing his operations. Yet he was still saving his ass. Some part of him recognized him as a brother-in-arms. They fought the same fight, they just did it differently. The instinct to never leave a fallen man behind ran deep in Frank.

Once he got him to his chosen rooftop, he pulled a long chain from his stock of gear, going about securely binding Matt to a chimney before he moved to sit, having himself a smoke. Once he was done, he took up his thermos of coffee and poured a cup, taking a drink as he heard Matt beginning to stir, clearly displeased with his situation.

“Morning, sunshine.” Frank remarked, finishing his coffee and starting to stitch his arm, listening as Matt struggled against his chains in frustration. “They say you don’t hear the bullet that gets ya. I always thought that sounded like a bunch of bullshit to me; how about you, Red? When I cracked off your forehead the other night, did you hear that?” He questioned, and received further sounds of Matt struggling against his chains in reply. Frank sighs softly, working on finishing his stitching as Matt let out a frustrated shout, “You can bash against those chains all night. Only way you get out of here, only way you walk free is if I want you to. Know that.” Matt finally ceased his struggling, panting softly before he spoke,

“Why didn’t you kill me? You’ve killed everyone else. Why am I still alive?” Matt questioned, and Frank cut the tail of suture from his wound now that he was done, “I got in your way three different times now, and you don’t seem like the kind of guy who just lets that happen.”

Frank didn’t answer, instead moving to uncover a number of weapons and ammo containers, and Matt continued to speak “What are you going to do with all of this?”

“I’ll do what’s required.” Replied Frank,

“What’s _required_? Come on, Frank. None of this is _required._ You don’t have to kill people. I saw what you did with the Mexican cartel. What part of that was _required?_ ”

“They got off easy!” Frank snapped as he turned, “You know, you sit there, Red, judging me, judging what I do. Probably think I’m crazy, right? Yeah, don’t think I don’t know what people like you think about people like me.”

“You had a hard war, Frank—“

“Don’t talk to me about war!” He yelled, moving toward him, “You don’t know the _first_ goddamn thing about war, about being on a battlefield like that. You don’t have the _right_ until you’ve been there.” Matt seemed to hesitate a moment before he sighed,

“No one else has to die, Frank. You could stop. Walk away.”

“Walk _away_? Could you do that? Could you walk away?” Matt didn’t reply, and he smirks, “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Frank added, moving across the roof as a church bell began to toll,

“What is that, midnight?”

“St. Matthew’s.”

“You a Catholic?” Matt questioned in interest, and Frank sighed a little,

“Once.”

“From New York?”

“Once.”

“You still go to mass?” Matt asked,

“Stop, Red. Stop digging.” Frank cautioned,

“Funny thing about New York, few people are from here. The ones who are they can’t leave, the feel like the city’s a part of who they are. Til one day, something changes, and then they have to leave, have to get out and see the world maybe. Maybe they enlist?” Matt ventured, “Where’d they send you?”

“You a shrink now Red? I thought you were a lawyer. Like I said, don’t talk about war unless you’ve been there.”

“I’ve been in some fights.”

“Yeah.”

“Almost had you beat.”

“Yeah, you talk about trading hands on a rooftop, Red. I’m talking about shit, okay? Shit that you ain’t been in.”

“I know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“War changes people. Sometimes they see things they can’t unsee. Come home and home’s not there anymore. It changed. Or maybe they did.” Matt replied, and Frank sighed, looking back to the weapon he was working with,

“Yeah, fair enough.”

“I’m just saying. I know it can be hard.”

“Do you? Do you know it can be hard? You run around this city in a pair of little boy’s pajamas and a mask. You go home at night right? Take that mask off, maybe think it wasn’t you doin those things, maybe it was somebody else. Well see, soldiers, we don’t wear masks, yeah? We don’t get that privilege.” Replied Frank, moving across the rooftop again,

“You know what I think?”

“What’s that?”

“You’re still at war.”

“Oh for crying out loud. So you charge by the hour, doc, or what?” He questioned, sighing as he sat down,

“You never answered me, Frank. Why am I here, why am I alive?”

“Everything you do out there in the streets, Red, it doesn’t work. Did you know that?”

“What you’re doing is better?” Matt questioned with a scoff,

“What I do, I just do. It’s out of necessity.” Frank replied and Matt scoffed a chuckle,

“Oh, come on. You know you’re not the only one right? Who did you lose? Huh? Was it someone you loved? Well _boohoo_ , let me tell you something, Frank. Everybody’s lost someone, it doesn’t mean you have to do this!”

“Well, loss doesn’t work the same for everybody, Red.” Frank replied and Matt chuckled again,

“That’s right; it’s clearly not working for you.”

“Maybe not. We don’t get to pick the things that fix us, Red. Make us whole. Make us feel purpose. My moment of clarity? It came from the strangest of places. What kind of name is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, anyway? I mean, _really?_ ”

“I didn’t ask for that name.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see you runnin from it.”

“And I don’t see you running from ‘The Punisher’ either.” Matt countered, “Unlike you, I don’t do this to hurt people, Frank.”

“Yeah? So what’s that just a job perk?”

“I don’t kill anyone.”

“Is that why you think you’re better than me?” Questioned Frank, sitting forward,

“No.”

“Is that why you think you’re a big hero, Red?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think or what I am!” Matt retorted, and Frank felt a small hint of satisfaction at the obvious anger in his voice, “People don’t have to die.”

“Come on, Red, you believe that?”

“I believe it’s not my call, and it ain’t yours either.”

“Somebody ask you to put on your costume or did you take it upon yourself?” Frank asked as he got to his feet, moving toward him and kneeling before him, “You know what I think of you, _hero_? I think you’re a half-measure. I think you’re a man who can’t finish the job. I think. You’re a coward. You know the one thing that you just can’t see? You know you’re one bad day away from being me. From being that Russian you’re so dead-set on protecting.”

“Yeah, maybe, Frank. But unlike you? I’m doing everything I can to prevent that from happening. I _fight_ the darkness in my soul. I don’t embrace it.”

“Not yet. But that bad day comes? You will. It’s inevitable, Red. The more you feed the beast? The stronger it becomes. It starts with little things, little excuses and justifications for not doin what you think is right. What you’ve been told is right. Like savin that piece of shit instead of letting him bleed out like he deserved. Look at the two of you now, huh? Best buds, hangin out, shootin the shit, havin a couple beers. You know he’s back runnin the same shit he was before, Red? Kidnapping innocents, shipping them off to Russia or god knows where else to be used and abused until their bodies finally break and they die or get put down, and every minute, every second you let that slide? You’re approving of it.”

“I do _not_ approve of it, Frank; I _detest_ it—“

“And yet you still let him keep doin it.” Frank countered, and Matt fell silent, swallowing a little, “More than that, you protect him, Red. So tell me why. If you hate it that much, huh? Why you givin him a free pass? Because he’s your _friend_? Because you _care_?” Frank questioned, watching Matt turn his head away, “We don’t give a free pass on shit like that if we don’t approve of it. Which is exactly why, once I finish with this mission? Ranskahov’s next on my list. You can fight it, you can try to stop me — god knows you probably will. But he’s a dead man walking; and there’s _nothin_ gonna change that.” Matt turned his head back toward him,

“You know why I give him a pass, Frank? Because I know him. Because I’ve seen a part of him you haven’t; the part of him that still has the capacity for goodness. Did you ever think about that? Did you ever kill somebody and think to yourself, ‘Man that was another human being I just killed.’”

“I think that’s being a little generous.”

“A human being, Frank! A human who did a lot of stupid shit, maybe even evil, but had one small piece of goodness in him, maybe just a scrap, Frank, but something! And then you come along and that one tiny flicker of light gets snuffed out forever.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. I think there’s no good in the filth that I put down, that’s what I think.”

“And how do you know?”

“I just know. Look around, Red, this city, it stinks. It’s a sewer. It stinks and it smells like shit and I can’t get the stink out of my nose. I think that this world, it needs men that are willing to make the hard call. I think you and me are the same!”

“That’s bullshit, Frank, and you know it!” Shouted Matt,

“Only I do the one thing you can’t. You hit em and they get back up. I hit em and they _stay_ down! It’s permanent. I make sure that they don’t make it out on the street again. I take pride in that.”

“Let me ask you this. What about hope, Frank?”

“Oh fuck. You wanna talk about Santa Claus?”

“I live in the real world too, and I’ve seen it.”

“Yeah? What have you seen?”

“ _Redemption_ , Frank.”

“Oh Jesus Christ.”

“I’ve seen it, it’s real, and it’s possible. The people you murder deserve another chance. _Vladimir_ deserves another chance.”

“What, to kill again? Rape again? Is that what you want?”

“No, Frank, to try again. To _try_. And if you don’t get that, there’s something broken in you you can’t fix and you really are a nut job.” Matt countered, and Frank pushed to his feet, staring down at him,

“What did you say?”

“You’re… you’re unhinged, Frank. You are. You think God made you a one-man firing squad. But you’re wrong. There is goodness in people, Frank, even in you. And you’re gonna have to kill me, ‘cause I’m never going to stop coming for you until I take you down. You wanna know why?”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re _insane_.” Matt replied, and Frank hummed, turning the gun in his hand as he laughed before he drove it into the side of Matt’s skull, knocking him out.

* * *

Vladimir had heard about the failed trap at the warehouses, that Matt had been spotted there fighting Frank, and in spite of his own irritation, he sent feelers out, wanting to keep track, keep an eye on things. Make sure he didn’t get shot in the head again if nothing else. When he was informed that Matt had been captured, was tied to a chimney on a roof, he got the location and headed that way. At this point, he was certain enough that Frank wouldn’t kill him. But that didn’t mean he was going to just leave Matt relatively helpless with as… unstable, as Frank could be. He entered the building and sneaked up onto the roof, following the noise of voices, and he paused as he heard Frank mention ‘the Russian you’re so dead-set on protecting,’ turning his head toward their voices to better listen. He blinks a little in a vaguely surprised manner as Matt defends him, explains his reasoning for protecting him, frowning gently to himself as he let out a mute sigh. When he heard the blow to Matt’s head, his eyes narrowed as he slipped from behind the door, closing it silently behind him and sidling his way to a better vantage point, watching Frank set up his weapon. _‘Dogs of Hell?’_ He wondered idly, drawing his sidearm and leveling it at the Marine,

“You really should have let him go, you know.” Observed Vladimir, and Frank wheeled around, his grenade launcher pointed at him, and Vladimir smirked, “I don’t think you’ll be shooting me with that, hm? Bit messy. Lot of innocent people below; doesn’t fit your style.”

“Yeah? What the hell you know about my _style_ , shithead?”

“Enough. Enough to know that in spite of the carnage in your wake, no one innocent has been hurt more than a few scratches. That’s where you and I differ. I don’t care who or what gets in my way, just that the job is done.”

“Yeah, I think we both know how you feel about innocent people, Vlad. Only one foolin himself around here’s tied to that chimney.” Frank replied, and Vladimir frowned slightly,

“Mm, he has hope. Optimism. He has not had life we have had to drown that in blood and pain and shit until who and what we were before is broken beyond repair.”

“Eloquent.” Remarked Frank, amused, “But see, your life and mine? Couldn’t be more different. You’ve always been a piece of shit, Vladimir. You always will be. Me? I do what’s necessary to clean that shit up.” He added, and Vladimir chuckled softly,

“What’s necessary.” Vladimir mocked, “Nyet. You do what you _feel_ like doing. Nothing more. Like him” he nods toward Matt, “You justify it to yourself, as the right thing, as doing good for the world. Both ignoring the part of you that enjoys what you do. Enjoys the pain and the blood and the battle. That animal part of yourselves you try so hard to keep in cage.” Vladimir moved toward Matt, looking the chains over a moment before he regarded Frank again, “None of us are different from the other. Is just whether or not we can admit it.”

“Yeah, fair enough.” Frank agreed, watching him, “So, what’re you gonna do, hm? Kill me, take him home, deal with the fallout? I don’t see that goin too well.”

“Not planning on killing you, not yet.” Vladimir replied, “Soon, I think. But for now? You’re useful. Taking out my competition for me. Works well for both of us I think, da?” He shifted his gun, firing on a link in the chains to break them before he knelt down to unwind them from the chimney and free Matt, “But you weren’t entirely incorrect. He needs to be resting; I doubt your fight did much for his concussion, never mind the blow to the head you gave him. Do what you’re going to do, mudak.” He started to heft Matt to his feet, the vigilante groaning softly as he started to come to, “Next time, I think this goes differently.” He added, and Frank smirked, sturgeonfacing afterward and giving a nod,

“You’re not wrong about that. And that next time’s gonna be sooner than you think.” Replied Frank, and Vladimir chuckled,

“I’ll mark it on the calendar.” He quipped, making for the door, the minimally-conscious Matt not entirely aiding in their locomotion, but he managed to get them down the stairs and on their way back to Matt’s apartment, only getting a block or so away before he heard the explosions behind them, a small smile gracing the Russian’s features, knowing it was the Dogs of Hell clubhouse going up in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Motya - Diminutive of Matvey, Russian variant of Matthew  
> Volodya - Diminutive of Vladimir  
> Malen’kiy dya’vol - Little devil  
> Tupitsa - Dumbass  
> Mudak - Asshole


	3. Where is the Edge? Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is less than pleased with Vladimir allowing Frank to destroy the Dogs of Hell clubhouse and appeals to his better nature, Karen is done with Matt’s excuses, and the Irish retaliate against Frank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is another great Within Temptation song; amongst the modified canon conversations, I felt obligated to leave Matt and Frank’s graveyard conversation verbatim — that scene is incredible and truly humanizes Frank, not only to we the viewers but to Matt, himself. (Not gonna lie, I cry every time I watch it. Ugh.) I consider it a defining moment in their relationship, and as such, I really couldn’t bring myself to touch it.

Matt groans softly as he comes to the next morning, only vaguely remembering Vladimir getting him home and the two of them getting him out of his armor. His head was throbbing, verging on the point of nauseating, and a hand came up to rest on the side of his head, trying to shut out the sound of Vladimir moving around the apartment, at least until the sound of his boots on the floor grew near and stopped next to him. He moved his hand to carefully help himself sit up, taking the offered pair of aspirin and glass of water and downing the lot before setting the glass down,

“I would ask how your head is, but I don’t think I need to.” Vladimir remarked, sitting on the other side of the couch,

“No, not really.” Matt replied quietly, his hand feeling for his watch before he sighed; it was 10:30 in the morning. “Why’d you pull me off that roof?” He questioned softly, turning his head toward him, “I could’ve stopped him if you hadn’t.”

“Maybe. But your head had enough for one night, malen’kiy dya’vol. And Frank was not going to stop, no matter how hard you tried.”

“So, what, you just let him blow the damn place up?”

“Da. The Dogs of Hell were in my way, anyway. Frank’s personal war has benefited me more than he realizes.” Vladimir replied, and Matt snorted, the sound half-derisive,

“Jesus, Vladimir. You realize he’s gonna be gunning for you next?”

“I know. I’m prepared for that.”

“Are you? Because I’m not sure that I am.” Matt remarked, Vladimir falling silent, but he could feel him watching him. “Why are you still doing all that shit? You don’t have to. I sincerely doubt you need the money at this point. So, why, Vladimir?” Vlad let out a soft, resigned sigh, and Matt knew revisiting a conversation they’d already had was an annoyance to the Russian, but really, Matt couldn’t grasp why he just… defaulted into something like that when he had so many other options at his disposal.

“It’s what I do, and I see no need to stop. No more than you see a need to stop what you do in spite of the damage it’s done to you.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s no different with Frank, either. We will all do what we do; we are who we are. Nothing can change it.”

“Choices can. You have a choice, a choice to stop a choice to… to live a different life. So why don’t you?” Matt inquired, and he felt the other man frown softly,

“You have that same choice. What we do, it becomes a part of us. Choice becomes irrelevant. And right now, in this city? There exists a growing power vacuum, thanks to Frank. If I do not fill it, someone else will. Someone worse. Already the Yakuza are restructuring.” He points out, and Matt stiffens,

“The Yakuza? How? Nobu’s dead.” Matt replies, turning to face him, frowning as Vladimir shakes his head,

“Nyet. I don’t know how, Motya, but he is alive.”

“But he burn—“

“Burned to death? Da. It seems I am not the only man with a knack for rising from the dead.”

“Jesus.” Matt sighed, scrubbing his face with a hand, “Exactly what I needed. Another asshole to deal with.”

“Besides me, you mean?” Vladimir supplied, a cheeky edge to his tone, and Matt snorted softly,

“You’re not an asshole; you’re a prick.” Replied Matt, and Vladimir chuckled,

“My own special title. I’m honored.” He replied, and Matt laughed softly, shaking his head as he lifts it to turn his eyes toward him,

”God I hate you sometimes, you know that? Even when I’m pissed at you I can’t stay that way. How the hell do you even pull that off?”

“Very carefully, malen’kiy dya’vol.” Vladimir replied, giving his hair an affectionate pet, and Matt snorted softly, shaking his head again, and he felt Vladimir watching him a moment before he spoke, “Why do you fight so hard, hm?” He questioned quietly, “I heard what you said about me, to Frank, on the roof. You talk of my capacity for goodness, of seeing more in me than he does. Why do you fight so hard for me to go against my own nature — and yours?” He added, and Matt sighed softly, licking his lips before he replied,

“Because your nature isn’t as cut-and-dry as you think it is, Volodya. You _do_ have that capacity for goodness, for doing the right thing, I’ve seen it myself. Self-serving or not, you let Frank live when you could’ve killed him. You did the same with me. You’ve had my back more times than I can count, even at your own inconvenience. I think… no, I know, deep down? You’re a good man, Vladimir. You’ve just buried that over the years, by choice, by necessity even, it’s what your life demanded of you. But it doesn’t…” Matt sighs, “You don’t _have_ to. You can change your life, your choices, all of it, you can let that better nature out and see what becomes of it.” He finished, and Vladimir was quiet again a long while, digesting his words, weighing his own, perhaps, before he regarded him again,

“And what if I don’t want to, Motya?” He almost whispered, “Mm? What if I like the choices I’ve made, who I am, and what I do?”

“I don’t believe that.” Matt replied, just as quietly, “I believe _you_ do, but… I don’t; I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you better than you think I do. I think you spend so much time trying to poke at me over my darker instincts because your own are losing their grip, and that scares you; because you’ve been this way for so long the thought of being any other way borders on terrifying.” Was Matt’s honest reply, forging ahead in spite of the way Vladimir’s fingers had stilled in his hair, “You’re right, Volodya. We _are_ the same, in so many ways; but that sameness also means you can make the same choices I do, to push away that darker nature in favor of the light. I’m not saying it’s easy, god knows I struggle more often than not. But it _is_ a choice you can make.” A soft but heavy sigh fell from Vladimir as Matt finished speaking,

“And perhaps, malen’kiy dya’vol, you are the one afraid, hm?” Vladimir began, regarding him again, “Afraid that you’re wrong about me, and about yourself. Afraid of the disappearing lines in the sand you’ve been drawing and crossing over time and again. “

“I don’t deny that. I am. I am afraid, Vladimir. Because Frank was right, I am _one_ bad day away from turning into him and that’s a thought that chills me to my core. But just because I’m afraid doesn’t mean I give up the fight. You shouldn’t either.”

* * *

Karen had been trying to get ahold of Matt all morning, and was, once more, knocking on the door of his apartment. Vladimir answered this time, and she sighed,

“Is he in there?”

“Da.”

“Good.” She replied, pushing past him without hesitation to find Matt, who was lying on the couch wearing quite a few more bruises than when last she saw him, and she sighed, “Another fall?”

“Karen—“

“Just save it, Matt.” She snapped, running her hands back through her hair, closing her eyes, and she sniffs softly, “Look. I just. I came to tell you. Grotto’s dead.” She finished, and Matt sat up,

“What?”

“He’s dead. The DA, she set up this-this-this trap for The Punisher, using Grotto as bait. It went sideways, Daredevil showed up and took care of The Punisher but Grotto bolted, and I can’t say that I blame him. He called me at the office, he was so _angry_ , Matt, and honestly I can’t blame him for that, either. I tried to convince him to come back but he wouldn’t. They found his body this morning, nailed to a billboard with —“ She broke off, taking in a shuddering breath, “He’d been eviscerated and had his face blown off with a shotgun.”

“Jesus.” Matt breathed, and Vladimir hummed,

“Hm, fitting; he spilled his guts to police, he spills them for real when he dies. Is an old message, usually sent by the mob.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t the Irish that killed him, Vladimir.” Karen replied shortly, looking back to Matt afterward, “The MO fits The Punisher. Think he just wanted to add a twist of irony to it.” She sat down in the chair, her legs shaking,

“Or maybe throw police off his trail.” Vladimir suggested, “Make it seem like someone else getting revenge on a rat.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Matt replied, getting to his feet and moving over to Karen, putting his hand on her shoulder, but she pushed it away, ignoring the flicker of hurt across his features,

“We’re paying for his funeral.” Karen announced, looking up at him as she wiped her cheeks, “There’s no one else to do it. We fucked this up, Matt. Us. He deserves… to at least have us do right by him. Give him a proper funeral.”

“I agree.” Matt replied quietly, “We’ll eat the cost. Karen, I’m sorry. I should have been there.”

“I’m used to it. You not being there when we need you? It’s becoming a habit, Matt. You think I don’t know you’re hiding something from me? You and Foggy? That I’m just swallowing that all of these bruises and scars are just accidents? Foggy said you’ve got a _drinking problem_ but I don’t buy that either. I know we made a deal last time I was here, and I probably shouldn’t even be saying half of the shit I am, but damn it, Matt. You’re both _lying_ to me and acting like I don’t know it! Not only is it insulting as hell, but I don’t even know anymore what to trust out of your mouth! Or Foggy’s! I can’t..” She gets to her feet with a shaky sigh, “I can’t live like this anymore, Matt. I can’t _work_ like this. Friendship is supposed to be about _trust._ And that doesn’t exist anymore, does it?” She questioned, regarding him, pushing down the stab of guilt at the visible pain and glassiness in his eyes, and she watched as he swallowed a little convulsively before taking in a deep breath, sighing it out quietly before he started to speak, but it was Vladimir that piped up instead.

“He has been helping me.” He began, moving toward the two of them, and Karen looked at him as her brows furrowed, “I am trying to take my business in more legitimate direction. Quietly. But still, word gets around, and many people are unhappy about it. My superiors in Russia especially. More than once they have tried to send me a message, using Motya as the carrier, and their messages have never been subtle. We didn’t want you or Froggy involved because of that risk. Is why he’s not told either of you. Froggy… he knows he’s been working with me, but not on what, or why; we asked only for his trust that it was the right thing, which he gave.” Vladimir paused, letting her process before he put a hand softly on the side of her shoulder, his gaze sincere as he met her own, “You have been through too much already, with Union Allied, Fisk, everything. We didn’t want you hurt. I’m sorry for my part in the ruse and my pressure on him—“ He gestured to Matt “To keep you out of the loop, but it was only out of concern for your safety.”

Karen studied him as he spoke, processing his words; the pieces starting to click into place — the ‘car accident,’ the falls, all of it. After a long silence, she realized that, strangely, she believed him. It explained their growing friendship, why Vladimir visited him so much, why they’d become so close. She let out a shaky sigh, running a hand across her face before she gave into the urge and hugged Vladimir, much to the Russian’s obvious surprise, though he hugged her back after a beat or two, and she nodded a little,

“Thank you. For telling me, for trying to keep me safe; it explains… kind of a lot, actually.” She laughed a little, and he smiled as they separated from the hug,

“I don’t doubt that it does.” He replied, and Karen turned to Matt,

“I’m sorry, Matt. I shouldn—“

“No, no. Karen, it’s okay. You had every reason to doubt me, with how I’ve been acting. I don’t blame you, not even a little bit.” He replied, and she hugged him tight, sighing in relief as he hugged her back,

“You’ll come to Grotto’s funeral right?”

“Of course. We both will.”

“We will?” Vladimir questioned, brows raised,

“We will.” Matt confirmed, “Like she said, Grotto didn’t have anyone left. It’s the least we can do.” He gave Karen a little squeeze, and she smiled as she stepped back,

“Thanks, both of you. I’m gonna get going, I’m still working on finding out what I can about The Punisher, building that file you suggested.”  
“Yeah, of course. Thanks for stopping by.” Matt replied, walking with her to the door,

“Sure, I’ll see you soon?”

“Definitely. And Karen?” He added as she started out the door, and she turned to face him, brows raised,

“Yeah?”

“Be careful, please.” He requested, and she smiled,

“I will. You too?”

“Deal.” He agreed with a smile, and she chuckled, leaving the apartment and heading back to the office afterward.

* * *

Vladimir heard Matt close the door, watching him as he made his way back to the front of the apartment,

“You didn’t have to do that.” Matt remarked quietly, and Vladimir shrugged a shoulder,

“Were you planning on telling her the truth?” Vladimir countered, and Matt shook his head with a sigh, “Then she needed believable reason for why you’ve been lying. You care about her, da? Enough to have spent all of this time lying to her to protect her and yourself, and you were about to lose her anyway because of it.”

“Yeah… it definitely kinda seemed that way.” Matt replied, moving to sit on the couch with a heavy sigh, “It’s not that there isn’t some part of me that wants her to know, there is. I just…” Matt scrubbed his face as he leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes

“You’re afraid of how she would react.” Supplied Vladimir as he moved to sit on the arm of the couch, and Matt nodded,

“Yeah. I mean, you heard her yesterday, how she blamed me for Frank. Not that she knew she was but…” He frowned, “I just, I don’t know how she’d feel about it, how she’d react. She’s one of the few good things left in my life, I can’t lose her, too.” Vladimir nodded, giving his hair a soothing stroke half on reflex, a small smile gracing his features when his head tipped toward his hand; sometimes he reminded him of a cat.

“You should consider it anyway.” Vladimir murmured, watching as Matt’s eyes opened, his head turning toward him, “Secrets like that will destroy your relationship, not preserve it. Tólja and I? We had no secrets. You and I? We have no secrets. Nor do you and Froggy.” Matt’s lips twitched in amusement as they always did with Vladimir’s use of his pet name for Foggy, “Or at least not many, anymore. It wasn’t what you do that angered him, when you fought. It was that you kept it from him. Do you think Karen will feel any differently about that?” He questioned, Matt visibly turning over his words before he shook his head,

“No. No, she probably won’t.” Admitted the brunet, and Vladimir nodded a little in confirmation, “I just… how the hell do I even tell her something like this? ‘Hey, Karen, can you get me that Punisher file, and oh by the way I’m Daredevil?’” He questioned, starting to laugh, and Vladimir chuckled,

“Well, I would maybe add ‘please’ to that.” He teased, making Matt laugh again, “But I think there will be a right time, malen’kiy dya’vol. You just have to recognize it when it comes.” He replied, and Matt nodded in agreement, shifting to lie down, his head against Vladimir’s leg,

“I hope you’re right about that.”

“Mm, haven’t you learned yet? I am always right.”

“Prick.”

Not long after their conversation, Vladimir left Matt dozing on his couch and exited the apartment. He made a few phone calls to set up a meet with his men; they needed to make plans for the evening. Russia was ever in need of more warm bodies, and it would take time to discuss viable targets, any tip-offs from the eyes and ears the Russians had around the Kitchen, and to lay out the itinerary for acquisition and transportation to the docks. Men, women, children, his superiors were never picky as long as the pipeline remained active and Vladimir kept his profile low. Admittedly, he found the acquisition of children distasteful; but it was something he’d grown used to. Rather like swallowing the piss-water that was American vodka — swallow it quickly and the foul aftertaste doesn’t linger long.

While it was true he made no great secret of his illicit activities where Matt was concerned, he never gave him the details. He didn’t need them, and he knew there would be too much temptation for the vigilante to interfere. Vladimir also knew that the day would come where that temptation would prove too strong for the man in question. He hoped to delay that day as long as possible, if only because some part of him knew that, deep down, he would be incapable of defending himself or his men against his vengeance — not because he was physically incapable, no, not that in the least; though he was still mending, his rather large capacity for violence had found its footing once more. It was something much worse than that: He couldn’t bring himself to hurt him. After witnessing what the dumbass put himself through night after night, after counting the scars on his body, Vladimir found the idea of adding to those scars to be the most distasteful thought of all.

* * *

For once, Matt had taken a day, and night, off to rest and to meditate. He knew he was really pushing his luck with his concussion; Vladimir had been right about that. The next morning, he woke and began to dress for Grotto’s funeral, pausing in his donning of a tie and moving to the front door when he heard a knock, smiling at Karen,

“Hey, I’m just about ready.” He greeted her, and they moved into his living room, Karen moving to him as he started to deal with his tie,

“Here, let me help you with that.” She offered, turning him quickly enough he got slightly dizzy,

“Whoa.” He grunted and Karen laughed a little, nervously,

“Sorry.” She replied, and after a moment she spoke again, “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just uh. Recovering.” Replied Matt, and Karen nodded in understanding,

“You feeling better?”

“Yeah, I am.” He replied, and he smiled as she fixed his collar and tightened his tie, “Not that I can verify, but you seem good at this.”

“Well, my brother wasn’t; so that’s where I came in.” Karen replied with a smile,

“You never said you had a brother.”

“You never asked.” She pointed out, and he hummed a bit,

“Thank you.”

“Mm, come on, it’s about time.” Karen replied, and Matt put on the suit’s jacket, following her out and to the church.

Matt was slightly surprised to find Vladimir waiting with Foggy at the church; he had half-expected the Russian not to be there in spite of Matt’s volunteering his presence. The four moved into the church, sitting in a row on a pew, and they listened to Father Lantom’s very blunt, honest sermon. The man really didn’t pull any punches regarding the kind of life Grotto led, and Matt respected him all the more for it. Afterward, Lantom joined them and they had a brief discussion about Grotto before Matt asked his three companions for a moment alone with the father, asking Foggy and Karen to meet him at the office. Lantom moved to stand in front of him, and Matt sighed a little,

“It was a nice sermon.”

“Thank you.”

“Most priests would have found something kind to say about the man himself, but…” Matt chuckled,

“I said he came to church. Nothing shines up a halo faster than a death, Matthew. But funerals are for the living, and revising history only dilutes the lessons we should learn from it.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“What wasn’t?”

“Grotto’s death.”

“No one said it was.”

“Yeah.” Matt sighed, “There’s a new man in town, he’s… killing people in cold blood.”

“Yeah, I read about what happened with the Irish.” Replied the priest, “Must have been a busy couple of nights.”

“Yeah, I did everything I could to… uhm, protect my client.”

“That work is done, Matthew.” Observed Lantom and Matt chuckled softly,

“Because I failed.”

“At least you tried.”

“Like you said, his life had value. A whole world’s been lost and others are dying one after the other—“

“Matthew, what are you looking for?” The father interrupted with a sigh,

“Forgiveness.” Matt replied, honestly.

“For what?”

“Uh... not doing more?”

“You just said you did everything you could. If you’re the man I understand you to be, I’m sure that’s true.”

“Then why do I still feel guilty?”

“Guilt can be a good thing. It’s the soul’s call to action. The indication that _something_ is wrong. The only way to rid your heart of it is to correct your mistakes, and keep going until amends are made. I don’t know what you didn’t do or what you should have done, but the guilt? The guilt means your work is not yet finished.” Said Lantom, and Matt considered his words a moment before nodding,

“What… what about things you let happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Things you know are happening, know they’re wrong, that people are getting hurt… and you do nothing to stop it?”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think you have an obligation to do so, Matthew.” Replied the father quietly, watching him,

“It’s just… the person doing them…” Matt sighed, “He’s not... entirely a bad person. He just makes bad choices. He has good in him, a lot of good, and I just don’t know how to bring that out, how to help him change or turn his life around.” Matt confessed, and Lantom hummed,

“The Russian?” Astutely inquired the priest, and Matt blinked in mild surprise; god was he that transparent? Or was the father just that good at reading people? Either way, he nodded a bit just the same, “I’ve seen him before, out on the streets when I go for a walk or run to get a bite to eat. I think, before, he wouldn’t have been caught dead in a church, much less nicely dressed and sitting for a funeral. I would venture you’ve been a good influence on him, Matthew. But there’s only so much one man can do to change another if that man doesn’t allow _himself_ to change. He may want to and not truly know how, or some part of him may be resisting that change for the better. Whatever it is he’s doing, it’s your duty — as much as his friend as it is who you are — to try to correct it, to try to… to mitigate the damage. I wouldn’t give up on him, but be cautious, Matthew. Sometimes, in cleaning up the mud, we wind up covered in it ourselves.” He concluded, and Matt weighed the father’s words, processing them and their implications before he nodded a little,

“Thank you.” Matt whispered, and he turned and made his way out of church, Vladimir waiting not far off, and Matt felt him look over as he approached,

“Trip to the confessional?” Questioned the Russian, and Matt smirked a little,

“No. Just… advice. Thank you, for coming today. You didn’t have to.” Matt replied, and Vladimir shrugged slightly,

“I said I would, da? I am a man of my word, Motya, for better or worse.” A pause as Vlad considered him before he spoke again, “You’re looking better.”

“Yeah, I took the night off.”

“Mm, Lucifer must be wearing ice skates.” Quipped Vladimir, and Matt laughed softly,

“I’m sure he is.” Replied Matt, and he turned his head toward the other man as Vlad’s phone rang, the Russian answering and conversing briefly with whomever was on the other end before he returned the phone to his pocket, flicking away the cigarette he’d been nursing,

“I should go. I’ll see you soon, hm? Try not to get yourself killed before then.”

“Yeah, I’ll do my best. You, too. Now that Grotto’s dead, you’ve probably moved to the top of Frank’s list.”

“I don’t doubt that I have, malen’kiy dya’vol, but as I have proven, I am _very_ hard to kill.”

“That you have. Just try to stay that way.” Replied Matt, and he felt Vladimir nod before he turned and headed off, Matt moving to flag a taxi to take him to the office.

Matt listened as Karen laid out what was in Reyes’ file on the Punisher, including the bullet to the head Frank had taken. Matt and Karen spoke briefly about her sentiments regarding Frank and that there had to be more to the story. Then Foggy called him into his office to discuss an unrelated case. When Foggy called for Karen, they both turned to see she wasn’t in the office,

“Maybe she just stepped out for something?”

“Did she take the files?” Questioned Matt

“What?”

“Reyes’ files, the Punisher files.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I have to find her.” Remarked Matt to Foggy, making for the door,

“Find _him_ first.” Replied Foggy, and Matt sighed before continuing out of the office.

The first place he went — after returning home to suit up — to was Melvin’s,

“You’re early. You know I don’t like being rushed.” Melvin complained,

“I need the suit, Melvin.”

“Yeah I figured. You know, you getting popped in the noggin gave me a chance to try some new stuff and I’m pretty excited about it. Fortified carbon tube helmet. I mean it’s pretty damn close to indestructible.”

“How close?”

“I’ll leave the testing to you. I threw in some reinforced alloy gloves. You know, what the hell? You gotta be careful. New people spilling a lot of blood out there.”

“Who?” Matt questioned curiously,

“I dunno. But my old contacts are cropping up begging me to outfit them.”

“Did you?”

“No, I don’t do that anymore; I turned them all away.” Melvin gestured to the new box then, “Oh, you look better.” He observed as Matt felt the new suit,

“I feel better.”

“Glad you’re on the mend.”

“So am I.”

“Well, stay safe out there, will you?”  
“Thanks Melvin, you, too.” Replied Matt, shaking his hand, and Matt left afterwards, returning home to change into the new gear.

That evening, Matt followed overheard police chatter to Stanley’s Bar; a reported scene of a murder. Part of him hoped Frank had nothing to do with it but he was growing doubtful of that. He moved into the back door and waited, and Brett opened the door a moment later, his sidearm leveled at him.

“I need to know what happened here.” Matt stated,

“I’m not telling you shit. You helped us catch Fisk, that don’t make us friends.”

“Was this The Punisher?”

“Jesus. The Irish, okay? To find The Punisher. They put a bounty on his head and now people all over the Kitchen are getting hurt. It’s the goddamn Wild West out there.”

“Have the Irish found him?”

“As long as we keep getting calls like this I guess not.” Brett replied, and Matt turned to leave, “Hey, stay out of it, you hear me?”

“I just wanna help, Sergeant.”

“No, you can’t help. You’re the problem! Because of you the uniform means dick. Cops are no longer preventing crime, we’re just chasing it, mopping up the mess that you people leave in your wake.”

“We’re on the same side, you and I.” Matt replied softly, ignoring the knot that formed in his stomach at Brett’s words,

“You’re on your own side.” Countered Brett, then a report of shots fired at the carousel came over the radio, and Matt disappeared before Brett could turn back to him, making his way rapidly across town. He knew that had to be Frank, or at the very least related to him.

Upon arrival, he found several dead bodies, the smell of blood and gunpowder hung heavily in the air… and then he heard a groan, turning his head to hear a slow heartbeat. He followed the sounds to their source and grabbed a man with a pretty nasty gunshot wound, slamming him into one of the horses, twisting his wrist painfully to make him drop his pistol,

“Who did this?”

“People you don’t mess with.”

“You’re bleeding out and I’ve got all night.”

“Go to hell!” The man replied, and Matt twisted his wrist further, making him cry out,

“Who did it?” Whispered Matt, feeling the man staring at him,

“The one they call Punisher.”

“Where is he?” Matt asked, and the man laughed,

“It doesn’t matter, because when we’re done with him, he’s as good as dead.” He replied, and Matt’s jaw tightened,

“That’s helpful.” He remarked, before twisting his arm hard enough he heard his wrist and more than a couple of bones in his hand snap like twigs, ignoring his scream of pain and his own intense pang of satisfaction in response to the sounds, “But it’s not what I asked.” He added, and after a moment, the man was kind enough to provide him with Frank’s location, Matt knocking him out afterward before departing.

* * *

Frank came to, tied to a chair in a dim room. A man entered the room, his Irish accent thick as he spoke, inquiring about the money Frank took, and then prompting the man with him — who was less than gentle — to deal blow after blow to him. He got his own hit in a few moments later when the bastard got too close and he head butted his nose, earning himself a drill to his foot in retaliation. He had no idea how long it went on for while he discretely worked on freeing himself — nor that Matt was now in the tunnels beating his way through the Irishmen to make his way to him. Then they brought in Max, the dog he’d rescued from their garage. The pit bull was yelping and whining, frantically trying to reach Frank and clearly distressed about the state he was in,

“Hey…”

“It seems like you’ve taken a liking to this mutt.” Remarked Finn, ignoring Frank’s worried muttering, “Hey, hey, good boy…” Whispered Finn, squatting down to pet the dog before regarding Frank, “If I don’t get my money, everything I’ve done to you, I’m doing double to poor Fido here, huh?” He threatened, getting to his feet before he moves to take up the drill, an icy lance of fear hitting Frank like a punch in the chest,

“Wait, wait, wait…” He said quietly, “Hey! Let him go! Let him go you asshole; I’ll tell you where your money is, okay? I’ll tell you. Your money’s in a van, okay? It’s in a van. It’s on 48th and 10th. Just let him… just let him go, you asshole, let him go.”

“He’s an animal lover. That’s sweet.” Replied Finn, “Take him out.” He instructed and his men led the dog out of the room, “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll keep you alive until the cash is safe at hand, yeah?” He added, setting the drill down and pulling out his phone to inform his men where the money was and to watch their backs. Frank could still hear Max whining in the other room, and he began to work more vigorously at removing the razor blade from his arm and to cut himself free.

* * *

Matt was beating his way through the tunnels, making steady progress toward Frank and leaving a trail of unconscious Irishmen in his wake. He looks up when he hears gunshots, starting to move more quickly, hearing Finn announce,

“He’s loose! Get down here! Jimmy! Shaun!” He yelled, and Matt just smirked. Jimmy and Shaun wouldn’t be coming. They were laid out on the floor, though he heard the remaining Irish quickly congregating around Frank’s location, Matt working quickly toward him, hearing Frank,

“One batch, two batch, penny and dime.” The man whispered, and Matt took out the remaining men outside of the door, moving into the room, both men breathing heavily as they regarded each other, “They’re gonna pay. Every single goddamn one of ‘em.” Frank growled,

“They will. But not tonight. Move.” Replied Matt, and they started to make their way through the tunnels, fighting those that got in their way, Matt using his baton to knock a gun out of Frank’s hand before he could kill someone, and again stopping him before he could take a hammer to someone’s head, “No killing.” Matt instructed,

“Altar boy.” Retorted Frank, punching the man instead. Matt took out the last man and helped Frank to his feet, “Alright, let’s get outta here.” He instructed, supporting Frank’s weight to help him through the tunnels.

They escaped to a relatively nearby graveyard, Matt all but carrying Frank by the end, and he helps him to the ground to rest against a headstone, both of them breathing heavily for a few moments to catch their breath,

“Hey. Not bad.” Said Frank, and Matt chuckled,

“Thanks.”

“I guess I uh, I guess I was wrong.”

“About?”

“About you being a pussy.”

“Don’t get all sweet on me now, Frank.” Replied Matt, and Frank laughed, the sound devolving into coughs, “Help’s on the way.”

“Nah, you should go. I’m past saving. At least I’d have company, right? I think I might cash out.” He began as Matt shifted his weight, “You’d have made a hell of a Marine, Red.” Frank added, and Matt found himself unexpectedly warmed by the compliment,

“That rhyme. What’s it mean?”

“What’d you say?” Frank whispered

“The thing you say. Right before you pull the trigger.”

“What do you… you heard that?”

“Yeah, I heard it.”

“What the… I gotta say, sometimes… sometimes I think you really just might be the devil.”

“Sometimes I think I might be, too.”

“It’s uh… one batch, two batch. Penny and dime, you know? It was her favorite book. You know you… you gotta cross the ocean… and go fight, you see… whole time you’re thinking you’re gonna be scared right? Then you’re not. See, that part of it was always easy for me. Killing. Even watching my buddies die, it just… it didn’t mean nothing. The first time I got scared… was on a plane on the way home. I kept thinking God was gonna pull the rug out from under us, you know? Shit, that’s his kind of funny, you know. But the plane landed safe and we were home. Driving through traffic. Yeah, you pass fast food and donut shops and all that… that greasy shit. It’s the shit you fought to protect and then the car stops. We were outside her school. I get to her classroom right?” Frank looks to him as he sits, “She’s in there… but she’s got no idea. She’s got no idea that Daddy’s home. I walk in, these kids, they’re not even studying, they’re doing some kind of yoga. Yeah?” He chuckles, “She’s there. She’s doing her poses, she’s bending and you know, she’s moving. She looks like a flower. Yeah. And you know, you can’t even understand it, you know how does something like that have…how does something that beautiful…how does that… does that come from me? You know? And she looks up, and she sees me. I see her. By God that’s real. That’s real, Red. Boom. In an instant, she’s across that classroom floor, she’s in my arms. She’s squeezing me so tight, I swear I was gonna bust a rib, you know?” He questions and they both chuckle, “We just stayed there like that, we’re holding each other. Teacher, she’s filming the whole thing on her phone, you know, she’s gonna put it on YouTube or some shit. She can’t hold the thing steady, because, you know, she’s… she’s bawling so hard, and the kids are all wailing, you know, they’re screaming. And me? Shit I’m the worst of all. I’m a… I’m a rubber-face clown, you know. I cried so hard. But not my baby.” He added, his voice choking slightly with tears, “Not my girl. You know, she’s my girl. She’s… she’s not crying, she’s holding _me_ up. My girl, she’s keeping me on my feet.” Frank paused, taking in a trembling breath, “She said ‘I knew it, Daddy. I knew it.’ And then we go home. Wife, the boy. Place is the exact same. It’s like it was just holding its breath waiting for me to get back, you know? Then it hit me. All of it, you know? The first time I felt how tired I was, you know, I was just… tired, you know? You… you ever been tired, Red?” He asked, and Matt nodded a little,

“Yeah.” He replied softly,

“So, you know. It’s just, I couldn’t do nothing, you know? All the things… I couldn’t take my wife to bed. Ball with the boy. Shit. I was too tired, couldn’t even drink a goddamn beer, you know. But not her. My girl was up. See, she wanted me to uh… she wanted me to tuck her in. She… she outgrew it, she knew it, but she didn’t care. She wanted it. She had that book. Her favorite book it was out on the pillows. One Batch, Two Batch… Penny and Dime, yeah? I read her that book every night before this shit, I read it every single night, but, see, that was over now because Daddy’s home now. She looked at me and she begged me, Red. She begged. She begged. I said ‘No. Daddy’s too tired, see. But I’ll…’” He pauses momentarily as his voice breaks, “‘I’ll read it to you tomorrow night. I’ll read to you tomorrow night, I promise.’ Yeah. Never think that… for her there was not gonna be any tomorrow, see. The last time I‘d see her, I’d be holding her lifeless body in my arms. Meat was spilling out of her, Red. The place where her face used to be.” He concluded, and Matt cleared his throat a little as he raised his head, “I think I’m done, Red. I think I’m done.” Frank added as sirens approached.

Brett made to arrest Matt, but at Matt’s insistence that he take the collar for Frank, that he spin the story to make the cops the hero, Brett agreed and let him go, saying he wasn’t like Frank. He watched from the top of St. Michael’s as the EMTs loaded Frank into an ambulance, letting out a quiet sigh. In truth he wanted nothing more than to go have a few beers at Josie’s and just take a breather. But he knew he had somewhere else he needed to be.


	4. Where is the Edge? Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt acts on Father Lantom’s advice, much to Vladimir’s ire. Extremely unexpected fluff ensues. Karen drags a willing Murdock and very unwilling Nelson into Frank Castle’s case.

Vladimir was down at the docks, a discreet distance away from his men to oversee the transport operation without actually putting his neck out should a sting occur. It was standard procedure for he and his men. He made notes in a small book, detailing their cargo while he smoked a cigarette, grunting in an annoyed manner as a steady rain began to fall and tucking the notebook under his jacket to finish writing before pocketing it. He looks over at the cargo container as his men load the people into it, only to stiffen as one of his men suddenly collapsed, barely glimpsing something metallic that went through the air. Then he saw a shape moving atop the cargo containers. He knew that silhouette well.

“Motya.” He murmured, watching as Matt’s head turned toward one side as if hearing him, and he sighed heavily. Part of him was inclined to go down to the dock properly, to fight with his men, but it was as though he were rooted in place, watching as Matt easily neutralized his men and set the people in the container free. Once they’d all run off, Matt turned toward Vladimir as if staring at him where he lingered in the shadows, and Vladimir walked away, forcing down the irritation in his belly that was rapidly boiling into rage.

* * *

After freeing the women from the cargo container, Matt watched as Vladimir departed the dock, finding himself more than a little thankful the Russian had stayed where he was. He sighed as he picked up his baton and departed, heading for his apartment — and judging by his trajectory, Vladimir had the same idea, but the vigilante beat the blond to their mutual destination, taking the time to change out of his armor and dry off a little before he heard his upstairs door slam as he pulled a T-shirt on. He moved into the front of the apartment, about to speak, only to have a hard right hook meet his jaw, staggering him as a left jab landed in his ribs, Vladimir grabbing him by the collar afterward and slamming him into the wall,

“What do you think you’re doing, tupitsa?!” Vladimir growled, “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve just done?” He asked, Matt breathing a bit heavily from the brief scuffle before he’d been planted into the wall; he found himself somewhat surprised by how strong Vladimir was — with his smaller frame, he had figured he’d have easily overpowered him. Lesson learned. Matt licked his lips a bit before he spoke, his eyes trained on Vladimir’s face,

“Do _you_?” He questioned sharply, sensing momentary confusion pass through the Russian, “Those were _people_ , Vladimir. Human beings. Not… not cattle to be mindlessly shipped off from point A to point B! Daughters, wives, sisters, mothers. All of them!” He snapped, and Vladimir laughed a little,

“You really think I don’t know that, Motya? If they were cattle, they would not fetch such a good price.” Vladimir replied, and Matt felt a sudden surge of anger rush through his veins, opting to return that right hook, Vladimir’s grip on him easing as he was caught off guard and staggered, but Matt didn’t let up, the two exchanging blow after blow until it was Matt that had a bloodied Vladimir against the wall, both panting raggedly from their fight,

“Stop.” Matt breathed the word, “Just. For once. Can you stop? Do you really think I’m _that_ bad at reading you? I’m blind, Vladimir, but I can see better than most people because of it. You think I don’t know that doing that shit bothers you…? Hm? You cover it up with sarcasm and snark and bravado but it eats away at you, Volodya. You get quiet, pensive. You brood, for hours, sometimes, and I see it _every time_ you’re here. You try to hide it, I’ll give you that. But you do a _really_ shitty job.” He concludes, finally easing his grip on the other man as he sensed some of the anger beginning to bleed out of him – so to speak. Vladimir regarded him a long moment in silence, his breathing slowing as he recovered from his exertion, and he shook his head a little,

“So what, hm? Is this some… intervention, malen’kiy dya’vol?” He questioned, his tone harboring that mocking edge that was so familiar to Matt’s ears, and Matt exhaled a short, sharp breath through his nose, more a sound of irritation than amusement,

“No, Vova. It’s a _warning_.” He replied honestly, sensing the surprise that flickered across his features before mild confusion followed it, “I can’t sit by and just let you keep doing this anymore. I can’t, you understand?” He continued, his voice so soft it was nearly a whisper, “I can’t let you keep hurting people, hurting _yourself_ because you think it’s all you’re good for. If you’re so dead-set on keeping going, I will be on your heels every step of the way. There will be _nowhere_ in this city that you can hide from me, do you understand? I’ll make it my personal mission to be as big of a pain in your ass as I can, for every minute of every day until—“ He was cut off rather suddenly as the Russian seized either side of his head, pulling him in for a bruising kiss, the surprise of it freezing him rigid for a moment before he melted into him, kissing him back with equal intensity as his hands tightened in his shirt, unable to help the shiver that went through him at the light pull of his hair between Vladimir’s fingers. When Vladimir pulled back, both of them were breathing heavily, the Russian resting his forehead against Matt’s as his grip in his hair eased, one hand sliding along his scalp to rest at the back of his neck,

“Why, malen’kiy dya’vol?” He whispered, “Why do you care so fucking much?”

“Because I care about _you,_ Vladimir.” Replied Matt, “Don’t you know that by now…? I will _always_ care about you. No matter what you do. That’s inevitable at this point.” He added, shifting his head slightly to somewhat nuzzle at his cheek as he swallowed, “Like I told you… I can’t protect you from yourself. But I can _try_ — and I always will.”

Matt and Vladimir ended up spending much of what remained of the night sitting up talking and drinking what Vladimir assured him was _very_ shitty beer. Sometimes the Russian would pace the floor of the entire apartment in general agitation as he tried to work through his own thoughts, other times, he would sit quietly as he mulled them through. Always, Matt was there to talk him through the confused snarls he’d inevitably work his brain into, winding up suggesting they do exactly as Vladimir had told Karen they already were — that they legitimize his business. Invariably, it grew too late for either of them to be able to think with any real clarity, and Matt ushered the blond to bed before lying beside him. They wound up talking a while longer anyway, in spite of their mutual exhaustion until that exhaustion won out, Vladimir falling asleep only heartbeats before Matt, himself.

The next morning, Matt’s eyes opened as his alarm went off, and he blearily reached over to turn it off, taking a moment to realize the reason the task had become more cumbersome than usual was due to the fact Vladimir had wound up sprawled half across him in his sleep, his head pillowed on his shoulder. He smiles softly, giving his hair an affectionate stroke, chuckling quietly at the gentle, disgruntled grumble of Russian that rose from him as he turned his head into the crook of his shoulder as if trying to block out the daylight streaming into the bedroom, having been roused by the alarm as much as Matt had. Matt listened to the slow beat of his heart and the sleep-soft rhythm of his breathing as Vladimir eased back into sleep, shaking his head a little before he reached over and picked up his phone, calling Foggy,

“Hey. Everything okay?” Foggy inquired, not used to Matt calling him so early,

“Yeah, everything’s good. I’m just gonna be coming in a little late today.”

“You okay? I heard about what happened last night with The Punisher and the Irish.” Foggy replied, and Vladimir let out a mildly disgruntled groan as the conversation began to rouse him again, “Was that a groan? Did I just hear a groan?”Asked Foggy, and Matt bit his lip to keep from laughing,

“It was, but not the type you’re thinking of. But yeah, I’m good, Foggy. I just need time to get alive. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“No sleep last night, too much talk this morning.” Grumbled Vladimir into his skin, making Matt’s shoulders shake softly with silent laughter,

“Yeah, sure, Matt. Take your time, come in later; we’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Foggy.” He replied, hanging up the phone,

“What did Froggy want this early?” Vladimir questioned drowsily,

“He didn’t; I called him. Told him I needed to come in a little late today; course I didn’t tell him that was because of a certain growth that seems to have attached itself to me.” Matt teased, laughing at the ‘phbtbt’ that Vladimir let out,

“You’re comfortable.” Vlad pointed out, shifting slightly to pull his own arm from beneath himself with a sigh of contentment, his eyes sliding closed again, “I have no intention of moving.”

“Yeah, I figured. Hence the late start to the day.” Matt replied with a smile, a hand moving to pet Vlad’s hair, “Go back to sleep, Vova.”

“Mm, already working on it.”

* * *

Vladimir’s eyes opened slowly as he was roused from sleep by Matt moving about, this time letting him up as he rolled lazily into his back, making a face at the significantly brighter sunlight that seemed aimed directly for his eyeballs, a hand moving to rub them and scrub down his face,

“What time is it?” He questioned blearily; it felt much later than it had the last time he woke up,

“Almost Noon.” Replied Matt, who rolled onto his side and stroked a hand into Vladimir’s hair, making him let out a soft sigh as his eyes opened.

He regarded him a long while, studying his features and — though he’d likely not admit it — enjoying the gentle intimacy of just. Waking up together. It had been a long damn time since he’d shared a bed without it being a one night stand; longer still since it had been simply to sleep. But if he were honest with himself, it was the best sleep he’d had in months. He wasn’t sure when, exactly, things had shifted between the two of them; they’d gone from enemies, to tentative allies, to friends, and then to something else entirely. Vladimir was nearly floored by the honesty Matt spoke to him with, the way he always encouraged him to be better than he was, as if he saw him as that already and was just waiting for Vladimir to catch up. His patience with him as he grumbled and growled and brought up counter-arguments to his very rational and reasonable points was almost saintlike, and he had to admit that Matt’s suggestion of taking his business legitimate, built upon his own cover story to Karen, was a viable one. It would take a hell of a lot of work, probably more than a little bloodshed, but… it wasn’t impossible. The question was, what, exactly, was he going to do? Sure, he had connections in the import/export business, in the gun trade, in the drug trade, but none of those were exactly _legitimate_ businesses. He must have been pulling quite a few strange expressions, as Matt chuckled softly, his head tilting to one side,

“What are you thinking about? You’re like a whirlwind right now.” He questioned, his tone inquiring but amused none the less,

“Mmh, you. Me. Everything.” He replied with nowhere near the eloquence he really intended, but Matt seemed to understand as he nodded, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, right on the scar over his eyebrow, eliciting a gentle sigh, “I… have no idea what I’m going to do, Motya.” He admitted, “I just. The idea to take my business legitimate? Is not a bad one. But how to do it and what to do? That is where I am lost.”

“Mm, you ever think about helping me…?” Matt asked, and Vladimir blinked at him, his brows raising, “Not so much the whole, vigilante thing — though with your capability for violence it wouldn’t be a bad fit.” Matt smiled, and Vlad chuckled softly, gesturing for him to continue, “What about something like private investigation? My firm could use a solid private eye to help with our cases, and with your connections in the underworld, it’d definitely be a boon to my nighttime activities on top of that; less time wasted beating information out of people or trying to figure out who the latest kingpin is. Plus, you build a big enough client base, there’s good money in it, and with your reputation I doubt many people would give you trouble.” He added, and Vlad hummed softly, considering the suggestion before he sturgeonfaced slightly,

“Is not a bad idea, malen’kiy dya’vol.” Replied Vladimir, and Matt smiled softly,

“I’m not asking you to decide now, or even in the next few days. I know it’s… a _lot_. A lot to think about, a lot to deal with logistically. It’s a _big_ change, and I get that. I just…” He paused, smiling a little again as he gave his hair another stroke, “I’m proud of you for even considering it, Vova.”

“Da?” Vladimir questioned in mild surprise, and Matt grinned, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips,

“Da.” He replied against his lips, kissing him once more before he straightened, “For now. I think our first priority needs to be food. I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”

* * *

Matt and Vladimir had breakfast — that they cooked together, this time. Matt had requested Vladimir make Kasha again, this time observing how it was made as he took care of making bacon and eggs to go with it. After they’d eaten, Matt had changed into his suit to go into the office, and Vladimir lounged on his couch, regarding him as he’d exited the bedroom,

“You really need TV.” He pointed out and Matt laughed, tying his tie,

“How would I watch it?”

“Eh, they have audio description on many things now.” Vladimir replied, moving over and helping him with his tie with an impatient bat at his hands, undoing the knot he’d started and starting from scratch

“Mm, true. I’ll consider it.” Matt smiled, humming as Vlad snugged his tie and fixed his collar, reminiscent of how Karen had just the morning before, though his hands lingered on his shoulders and Matt put a hand on his hip, resting his forehead against Vladimir’s a moment, “You gonna hang here while I’m gone or you got things to do?”

“I always have things to do. Is whether or not I decide to do them that changes. I may stay a while.” Vlad replies, and Matt nods a bit,

“You’re always welcome to.” He lifts his head, “Be safe today, Vova.”

“You too, tupitsa.” He replied, and Matt smiled, kissing his temple before putting on his jacket and exiting the apartment to head into the office.

When he arrived, Foggy and Karen were there, talking over the Punisher, though they both turned as he came in,

“Afternoon, Matt.” Karen greeted him, and he smiled,

“Good afternoon. What’s all this about the Punisher?” He questioned,

“The press.” Karen sighed, “They’re still painting Castle like he’s nothing more than some deranged lunatic.”

“Well it’s not like our boy was out collecting for the Red Cross.” Observed Foggy,

“I know, I know, but..” Karen began

“You think there’s more to the story.” Finished Matt,

“Exactly. I mean, _five_ different papers and not a word about the _bullet_ he took to the brain, or his military record, or his family.”

“Uh, his family?” Questioned Matt, and Karen hesitated, looking between he and Foggy a moment before opening her desk drawer,

“Um… okay, uh, I found this photograph, it’s of him and his wife and kids at the carousel.” She replied, putting it on the desk,

“You found it where?” Matt inquired,

“I sort of broke into his house.”

“You did what?” Asked Foggy,

“ _What?_ ” Matt inquired, more than a little irritation in his tone,

“It was ill-advised, I know.” Replied Karen,

“Not to mention dangerous.” Countered Matt,

“And illegal.” Added Foggy,

“Yeah, and it’s all that. All of that. And I don’t need a lecture, okay?” When they were both silent, she continued, “Thank you. Look, it’s not _just_ about the press. The DA’s office released their statement and it’s full of holes, too. Something _big_ is going on here, guys, and it all circles back to Frank Castle.”

“Oh, no, no no no…” protested Foggy,

“Come on Foggy!”

“No, come on, we successfully dodged a metaphorical bullet and quite a few literal ones. We need to be done with the crazy, guys. We _need_ normal.” Foggy replied, moving into his office, and Karen regarded Matt,

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry if I pushed it too far.”

“It’s okay. I just..” He laughs a little, “I don’t think you’re wrong about Castle, but… it’s really simple, Karen. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know. But after everything… Matt, I can’t just… let this go. I don’t agree with what Frank did, with his methods, but… doesn’t he deserve to have a fair shot? To have people know the whole story?” She questioned, and Matt sighed softly,

“Yeah. He does. Let’s see what we can do about giving him that, okay?” Matt replied, and Karen smiled, hugging him tightly,

“That.. that would be great, thank you, Matt.”

“You’re welcome. But Karen…” He began, breaking the hug and holding her hands in his, “The minute, and I mean the _minute_ I get even the slightest whiff that you’re in danger—“

“No, I get it. We’ll pull the ripcord.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m absolutely good with that.”

“Good. Then let’s get to work.”

Matt and Karen eventually managed to convince Foggy to help them look into the case, the ADA arriving along the way and trying to bribe them to hand over Grotto’s file — which was summarily refused without a court order. It was after dark when Matt finally left the office, and he stopped off at St. Michaels, discretely roving the catacombs until he found Max, the pooch having avoided discovery by the police, and he knelt down as the dog trotted up to him, recognizing his scent,

“Hey, boy.” He gave him a pet, smiling as he licked his hand, “Let’s get you home, huh? You can come stay with me til things get sorted out with Frank, how’s that?” He got to his feet, taking up one of the chains and unhooking the useless one, leading him out of the tunnels. He decided to swing by a pet store to get the pooch a proper leash, food, and a water and food dish, swapping out the chain for the leash and walking him home. He set down his purchases and took off Max’s leash, the dog immediately bounding up onto the couch as Vladimir let out a startled grunt — he had been lying on it and suddenly found himself with a torso-and-lap full of pit bull,

“Ah! What?” He questioned in confusion, cutting off with a sputter as his face is given a thorough tongue-bath by the dog in question, making Matt laugh heartily,

“Max!” He called, and the dog jumped down, trotting over to him, and Vladimir wiped off his face,

“You got a dog?” He questioned in disbelief, pausing the TV that he had apparently decided to acquire after his conversation with Matt,

“Technically, no. He’s Frank’s. I figured he could use a good home until Frank’s situation gets sorted.” He explained, moving to the kitchen to fill Max’s bowls, putting them down, smiling as the pooch tucked into his meal,

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You brought a TV. I brought a dog. I think we’re even.” He replied, grinning at the ‘pfft’ Vladimir let out in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely did not intend this much fluff. But holy hell, the fluff. The muses took the wheel on this one >.> I’d apologize but I kind of love it.


	5. Author Update

Hey everyone! I just wanted to let you all know I haven’t abandoned this fic! I’ve just been having a case of writer’s block coupled with a flare up of chronic illnesses I have. 

I promise I’ll update as soon as I can! Thank you all for reading and for the kudos and bookmarks; they really make my day <3 

~Jade


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